A Dance of Devils
by superhackaninja5
Summary: After Charlie Parker gets shot, something awakens in him, something that he never really believed was there. As he delves into a new case, new abilities and new feelings come to the surface and he discovers that there is more to his friend, the enigmatic Louis's past than he ever knew-and that it is all connected to the mysterious One Who Waits Behind the Glass and his followers.
1. Chapter 1

This is the AU charlie parker fic i've been working on for like a million years. Kind of messes with the timeline of The Wolf in Winter a bit then ignore all the books after that.

rough summary: After Charlie Parker gets shot, something awakens in him, something that he never really believed was there. As he delves into a new case, new abilities and new feelings come to the surface and he discovers that there is more to his friend, the enigmatic Louis's past than he ever knew-and that it is all connected to the mysterious One Who Waits Behind the Glass and those who worship him.

Disclaimer: don't own charlie parker obviously. if i did, louis/charlie/angel would be a polyamorous ship and things would be even darker than they already are.

Warnings: language, slash, threesomes, probably smut eventually, violence, character death(s)...there will probably be more to come

* * *

Winter dead, spring dying, summer waiting in the wings. And yet…

The night sky was consumed by dark gray clouds and rain was falling from above, colliding with the asphalt like shattered pieces of glass. When the hail began, that was what it felt like, too.

The people of Scarborough didn't know what to make of it. Normally, this would be the time when seasonal rentals would be opening and getting cleaned; ice cream parlours had already begun ordering supplies and stores and restaurants had been gearing up for the advent of the tourists. But it looked like there would be none this year.

They didn't know what this meant. It was nearing the end of May, and summer storms weren't unheard of, but they were extremely rare. There hadn't been one in quite a long time. They weren't ill-prepared, though. Just a few weeks ago, there had been one-but not like this. The downpour was getting heavier by the minute and it didn't show any signs of letting up.

Some of the more superstitious citizens wondered whether the unseasonable deluge was maybe an omen-a portent that something sinister was on its way to the town.

Or rather, on its way back.

Everyone knew of the private detective, Parker, and they knew what had happened to him, either through the story in the papers or through word of mouth. They knew the case he'd been working on most recently had ended with him being attacked in his home. They knew he'd been shot and his injuries had been several enough to put him into a coma that no one had thought he would wake up from, not even his doctors.

Now, only a few days later, he was coming home. He was returning to the scene of the incident and the residents of the town didn't know what to expect. They'd heard that, while he was in the hospital, he'd died and been resuscitated three times like some biblical prophecy come to life. Someone didn't go through that and not change; the detective already brought shadows with him wherever he went. Would the man awakening from the coma be the same as teh one who'd gone in? And what would follow him from wherever he'd gone while he'd been unconscious?

The steadily intensifying rainfall seemed to suggest something quite... _dramatic_.


	2. Chapter 2

_In the times before it had taken days, sometimes weeks, of calling in favours and checking with feelers before Louis, Angel and I had been able to locate one of the Collector's nests._

 _Somehow, though, this time was different. Somehow, all on my own, I had managed to discover the Collector's latest hiding spot without even meaning to. And I wasn't too late to catch him. He was still here; he was so close I could practically_ taste _the nicotine permeating off him._

 _I hadn't come here intentionally; or at least, my intention wasn't to find the Collector. Louis and Angel had told me of their deal to abandon our hunt in exchange for the identity of my shooters. I had said nothing at the time; though I understood why they'd done it, I was neither unwilling to commit to nor outright reject such a promise._

 _On the other hand, now that I was minimal distance away from him, the man I'd been after for the better part of the last two months, the desire for blood was suddenly rising in my throat like bile, just as bad as when I'd found the man who'd murdered my wife and daughter._

 _I'd only just got out of the hospital a few weeks ago, but strangely, I felt perfectly fine. I was in no pain; in fact, I felt almost better than before I was shot._

 _Well, physically, anyways-mentally…that was another story._

 _It wasn't the first time since I'd awoken that I had experienced such a powerfully alien sensation. Something had drastically changed in me while I was in that coma, hanging on the precipice between life and death. I'd come back, but I hadn't come back the same._

 _And the fact that I'd healed faster than humanly possible-or so the doctors had told me-wasn't the only reason I thought this. There was a feeling inside of me, something that was permeating every inch of my body: the need to take the Collector's life was taking hold of me on a subconscious level, just as my conscious self had been unwilling to entirely abandon it._

 _Before, I had equated it with a dispensing of justice; but now I had no qualms about seeing it for what it was. An act of wrath, plain and simple._

 _I descended upon the house with a single-minded determination and a speed I never knew I could achieve. I came to a halt just outside the front door; I was all set to kick it in-or find a window to climb through-but that proved unnecessary. The door swung open just as I was about to make a move, seemingly of its own accord._

 _The inside of the house was well-furnished, if a bit dusty, I noted as I entered, eyes scanning almost frenziedly for my quarry's distinctive form. The lawyer was most likely here as well, or else somewhere close by. I knew he'd been injured in the explosion that lead to the Collector killing Jackie and, as such, the Collector wouldn't want to stray too far from him. That was fine; I would take Eldritch out as well, if I had to._

 _As it turned out, I didn't really have a choice in the matter._

 _The stench of cigarette smoke got steadily stronger as I made my way through the house and I knew the distance between us was getting smaller. I drew my gun, prepared to finish it all with a bullet to the head; but when I came upon him in the narrow kitchen, as cadaverous as ever in his yellowing dress shirt and fraying coat and with that ever-present cigarette clutched between his middle and index fingers, the shadows around us came to life and began to converge on him._

 _I saw the Collector's brows furrow as an unearthly roaring filled the air, and a strange greenish smoke crept into the room to join that which was already coming from the end of his cigarette. It consumed everything; the walls, the counters, the cupboards._

 _And then, it began to morph into flames._

 _The Collector watched,_ gaped _, in what I took to be shock and horror as fire encroached on every inch of the dimly lit space like a hungry monster. These were no ordinary flames, for they had not been created through ordinary means; not only that, but they were black as night and were spreading more rapidly than anything I'd ever seen before-and I had seen a lot. They were definitely not of this world._

 _ **Nor was the person they were coming from**_

 _I should have been stunned or scared by the spectacle unfolding before me, but an inhuman calm had settled over me, and I simply watched with empty eyes as the Collector was brought to his knees, choking for breath._

 _I strode into the kitchen, somehow remaining untouched by the inferno, to stand in front of him as the fire caught on his coat and began to eat away at his flesh._

 _He raised his head to look at me and I saw, for the first time, actual fear on his thin face. I didn't know what he was seeing but it seemed to have brought him back to that lesser state of human, a great comedown from how he had once seen himself as more._

" _They promised," was all he said before a column of black fire swallowed him whole._

 _I didn't bat an eyelid as his strangled screams rent the air, nor did I feel any remorse at knowing that his companion was most likely suffering the same fate somewhere else in the building._

 _This was karma; once, the Collector had played at being judge, jury, and executioner. Now he was the one being judged._

" _You and the lawyer have both been judged,_ Kushiel, _and I have found you wanting," I whispered, the words coming without any conscious thought. As I spoke, the rest of the room was consumed by the dark fire; the walls came down around me and, as I turned to leave, the whole structure crumbled into ashes._

 _I closed my eyes…_

When I opened them again, it was to the sound of lightning, and the screams of the Collector and Eldritch ringing in my ears.

I blinked, attempting to get a grip on what was reality. It wasn't weeks since I had been released from the hospital, it had been merely days. I wasn't standing by the charred ruins of the house at Rehoboth Beach, and the Collector and his companion were, as far as I knew, still alive-I hadn't killed them, though I still very much wanted to. I hadn't even left my house except to make a few trips to the store since I'd come back.

I took a deep, slow breath, casting my gaze around at the familiar fixtures and surroundings of my house in Scarborough. Everyone, including Rachel and my doctors had advised me against returning here, to the scene of my shooting; even with the partial renovations that had been done to restore it, the counselor had said being here so soon after the attack could still exacerbate the trauma of the incident. Being back could interfere with my recovery.

What no one knew-what I hadn't told anyone0was that I wasn't suffering from any distress from the attack, and I didn't really need any time to recover. I had healed almost completely and immediately upon regaining consciousness, and had been in perfect condition ever since.

Until now.

That dream, it hadn't been just a dream, or even a nightmare. I'd had nightmares before-after everything I'd experienced, who wouldn't-but this had been unlike any I'd ever had before. Well, actually, it kind of reminded me of that nightmare I used to have of the marshes being on fire-except, for one thing, I hadn't been asleep.

And for another, this had felt far more...vivid. I could still smell the nicotine and smoke in my nostrils and feel the heat of these black flames ghosting over my skin. I may not be there now, but it was as if I had just been, No dream, no nightmare had ever given me that sensation before, like I had just been somewhere else without knowing it.

That couldn't be possible. I hadn't left my kitchen; I hadn't even moved from this position since earlier in the day. There was no way I have gotten from here to that other house so quickly and without leaving even a single sign. I couldn't teleport; that wasn't possible.

I shook my head, rolling my neck to get rid of the slight crick that had formed in it from sitting so long. Something was different; something had drastically altered in me since I had woken up after my shooting. I shouldn't have been alive, they said; I'd flat-lined more than once and, each time, they'd thought I was dead. Yet somehow I'd managed to be revived, and after, there was no trace of what had happened.

Well, no physical trace, anyways. I'd been to the world between worlds, and my trip there had definitely left its mark.

What I had seen in that not-dream, what I had done, what I had seen myself do, that was not normal. That fire that had killed the Collector and the lawyer had been...unearthly, to put it mildly. I didn't think fire could be black, never mind that it could appear without any kind of accelerant. There was no way that that could have been real, but still. There was something else going on here, something that should have terrified me; yet, for some reason, it didn't. It merely unsettled me a little.

I got to my feet, holding back a yawn. Whether that... _event_ with the Collector had really happened or not, it had really tired me out. So, I dragged myself out of the kitchen and headed up to my bedroom, shedding my long coat as I did so.

It wasn't until I entered my room and went to hang it up in my closet that I noticed the layer of soot that had collected on the hem.

 _I dream dark dreams. I see bodies fall, kingdoms crumble and cities burn._

 _I watch the Reaper of Souls ride across the Earth on his pale horse; but when he removes his hood, it is my own face that is revealed._

 _I am become death, the god of the underworld_

 _The End of all things._


	3. Chapter 3

The storm had spread to other corners of Maine, blanketing the majority of the coast in rain and fog, disturbing many citizens' plans which were predicated on the presence of the sun-which was, unusually, nowhere in sight.

It was particularly irksome to Frank Tedor, who was not at all fond of the cold. He was already having a bad day, and the sudden unexpected downpour was not helping matters one bit.

In fact, the last couple of days, actually weeks, had not been all that great. Ever since the whole Kyle Brandt situation had begun Tedor had been in a perpetual state of frustration and dismay.

Being a prominent detective in a town like Caindar wasn't easy during the best of times-the town was so stuck in the past in most things that people should still be riding around in horse-drawn carriages-but lately, it had been practically impossible. The murder of Natalie Brandt was still unsolved; Frank knew who the perpetrator was, but he had nothing to support it and the man had a rock-solid alibi.

Now the man was still in her house, had taken up with her sister and was still terrorizing her son and there was nothing Frank or any of his fellow officers or anyone else could do about it.

Well, actually, there was one option he hadn't explored yet, but Frank wasn't certain that matters had really gotten that drastic yet.

As he drove down Caindar's main street with his hands clenched, knuckles white, over the curve of the steering wheel and his jaw working furiously as the incidents that had lead to his current discontent ran through his mind. Kyle Brandt hadn't had the greatest start in life: he was a black boy growing up in a place full of junior Klansmen.

Not only that, his father had died just after he'd been born and his mother was, well, not poor exactly, but definitely not rich, either.

The boy was soft-spoken, reserved and clever, but all the cleverness in the world hadn't endeared him to his lighter-skinned peers. He didn't have many friends, or any girlfriends. In fact, the only actual interaction he seemed to have with anyone was with the women of his family.

Because of that, however, there was another count against him, whispers that he might be a homosexual. Nothing had happened to confirm those rumours, but the rumours themselves were enough to give him a reputation.

Frank didn't know if they were true, but he didn't really care. He'd been friends with the boy's mother and he liked the kid. He didn't want to see him suffer like that.

There was thunder as he turned onto Bryer Lane and drove past the Brandt house. He saw Debhos inflicting his unique form of torture on Kyle and his family members there, and he knew he couldn't stand it a second longer.

He made a U-turn, parked his vehicle in a corner where he wouldn't be seen and withdrew a slip of paper from his pocket, which had a phone number written on it in someone else's handwriting. The number had been given to him by a friend of his, a retired detective in New York, when he'd told him about Kyle's situation. He'd said it was the number of a detective, the one who'd recently been in the papers after being shot and nearly killed in his home in Scarborough. Frank knew what else he had done, and he'd thought he'd never be desperate enough to call him.

Unfortunately, it looked as though he'd been wrong.

He switched on his phone and took a deep breath before putting in the number and hitting the call button.

" _Hello?"_ the voice on the other end answered, sounding studiedly neutral, but polite.

"Mr. Parker," Frank said, dropping his free hand into his lap and bracing it tensely against his leg. "My name is Frank Tedor; Walter Cole gave me your number. I know what happened to you and I don't want to interfere with your recovery, but I have a problem and I think you might be the only one who can help me with it…"


	4. Chapter 4

so obviously changing the timeline of when charlie got shot and how long he was in the hospital. it is now may in the story and supposed to be summer but it's not.

* * *

The boy was really not dressed for the weather.

It was the middle of May, and summer was supposed to have begun, but there was still frost on the ground again and the storm from the other night was still swirling around.

Yet the boy on the street before me was only wearing a thin jacket, worn jeans and a pair of sneakers. He was shivering from head to foot and visibly having to grit his teeth to keep them from chattering.

I'd meant to tell him to meet me somewhere like a café or something, but, considering his situation, that hadn't really been a possibility. Not to mention the fact that, because of the unprecedented drop in temperature, all of the places nearby were filled to capacity already. And bringing him to my place wasn't an option, either; his circumstances aside, the house wasn't exactly in a state that would be comforting to a child, even with the attempted repairs that had been done after the attack that had put me in the hospital.

I didn't know that much about Kyle Brandt, other than what Frank Tedor, the man who'd hired me and asked me to talk to him had told me. From the information I'd been given, I wasn't surprised by his less-than-practical state of dress. My former partner, Walter Cole's wife had known the boy's mother and the family apparently wasn't very well off.

Things were probably a lot worse, too, since his mother had been murdered just over a month ago. According to Tedor, the man who was responsible had gotten away with it and was now sharing Kyle's aunt's bed and, in Tedor's opinion, abusing her just like he'd been doing to her sister.

I wasn't supposed to be working a case. I was supposed to be at home, recuperating from the coma. Strangely, though, I was fine; other than that crazy dream a few nights ago, I was great-and I wanted to work. And this case, this kid's story, it had struck a chord with me, so I couldn't just leave it alone.

That was how I'd ended up here with this lanky fifteen-year-old, attempting to think of a way to keep him distracted from the cold and convince him to tell me what was going on.

"Look, Kyle, I can help you, but not unless you talk to me," I said in what I hoped was a reassuring voice, trying to look as unthreatening as possible.

Kyle remained quiet for several more seconds, appearing largely unconvinced while continuing to assess me through his vaguely haunted eyes. I couldn't blame him; even though I was, ostensibly, a friend of 'Ms. Cole', I was still technically a stranger, and he had no reason to believe me-especially after all that he'd been through.

I didn't know what else I could say to him to convince him that I was, if not a friend, then someone who could be one-someone he didn't have to be afraid of. So, instead of saying anything, I simply spread my palms and hoped for the best.

Kyle continued to examine me for another full minute before finally seeming to relax and responding.

"He told me not to talk to anybody," the boy stated lowly, gaze dropping so he was looking more at my neck than my eyes. He shifted more, hands in the pockets of his jacket. "He said if I did, he'd make me disappear like he did to my momma."

"He won't find out you said anything," I promised him firmly. "I can protect you if he tries to hurt you. I know how he hurt your mother, and Mrs. Cole said he's hurting your aunt. Is that true?"

Kyle nodded slowly, hunching in on himself as he lost the fight to keep his teeth from chattering.

"I hear her screaming every night," he confessed with the air of having to admit something deeply painful. "He tries to cover it up, but I hear it."

I internally grimaced; that couldn't be fun for him, hearing someone he loved in pain and not being able to do anything about it.

There was a brief pause, then he added even more quietly, his eyes darting around like he was making sure no one else was listening, "He did the same thing to my momma, too."

"I'm sorry, Kyle," I said sympathetically, laying a tentative hand on his shoulder; I took it as a good sign that he didn't retreat from it. "I know what it's like; that's why I'm here. I want to stop him, to get justice for your mother and stop him from abusing your aunt or anyone else."

Kyle looked into my eyes again, lips trembling, either from the cold or from trying to keep his emotion in check. "The other detective tried, but then he let him go." There was a definite note of 'what can you do that he couldn't' to his tone.

I suppressed a rueful smile with difficulty; little did he know that there was a lot I _could_ do that a police detective couldn't. However, what I _should_ do was quite another matter; the last allegedly innocuous case I'd taken had ended with me nearly dying-and this definitely was not as innocent as that one had appeared.

"Well, I've talked to him, and the only reason he let the man go was because the police didn't have enough evidence to hold him," I told Kyle truthfully. "His friends gave him an alibi for the time your mom went missing; but I can find a way to make that go away. Do you know the names of any of his friends?"

Kyle clenched his jaw while he thought about my question.

"No, I don't," he shook his head helplessly, then hung it. "Will that make it more difficult for you to help?"

I couldn't lie to him. "It will, but I don't usually let that stop me. I can still investigate, and in the meantime, I can try to get some friends watch your family so no one else gets hurt like your mother did."

Kyle looked at me again, searching my face. I could tell he didn't know what to do here; he wanted to be able to rely on someone, but his history had given him reason to think there wasn't anyone he could.

Something in my tone, or my demeanour must have gotten through, however, because he gave a way, gradual nod.

"Please," he forced out softly.

I squeezed his shoulder; I didn't tell him it was going to be okay-I didn't know that-but I did tell him this: "I'm going to do my best to get that man out of your life, Kyle. You have my word."

With that promise, I sealed my fate.

* * *

I wanted to get Kyle somewhere safe right away, but he wouldn't leave his aunt-and that probably would have been a giant giveaway that he'd talked-as would getting someone to watch out for him, as anyone I could get at this short notice probably wouldn't be all that subtle.

So, I had to let him go back-against my better judgement-without any kind of protection or guarantee that he would be okay. It went against every fiber of my being, but, unfortunately, I had no other option.

I grudgingly left Kyle to walk home alone and returned to my own residence to debate on what my next step should be. Obviously, I'd taken the case and not only because of my inability to turn away from a child in need.

The information I had cobbled together from Frank and my meeting with Kyle wasn't a lot, but it was enough for me to realize the tale sounded oddly familiar.

Angel had told me a little about his partner's past, and what he'd told me was almost exactly what I'd heard about what was happening to Kyle: a man had come into his life, seemingly out of nowhere, on his mother's arm, abused her, made her disappear and then, taken up with his aunt, There were certain differences, of course, but there were far too many similarities for me to ignore.

Even the names of the man who'd killed Louis' mother and the one who was currently terrorizing Kyle were practically the same; Deber and Debhos.

Bizarrely, I found myself wondering if the two were connected somehow. Was history intentionally repeating itself?

I stared at my notes, continuing to turn the meeting over in my head. Come to think of it, the boy had kind of reminded me of Louis-when he wasn't verbally abusing me or his boyfriend. There was a faint darkness to him, like a sleeping predator for just waiting to be woken. And there was a darkness in his eyes that I had never seen in a teenage boy before.

I frowned, tapping the end of my pen against the surface of the wooden table thoughtfully. I'd tried to do some digging into Deber after Angel had told me about him-just out of curiosity-and, from what little I'd been able to find, he and Debhos could have almost been the same person

I really wanted to get a look at this guy before I made any assumptions, however; going to check him out at Kyle's house most likely wouldn't be the best idea, so I was clearly going to have to find another place-one that would be less likely to end up with me getting my ass handed to me.

Perhaps his place of business, or somewhere a little more neutral.

As I pondered an alternative, my phone rang in my jacket pocket. I fished it out and read the caller ID. It was Lee Cole.

"Lee," I answered the call with a slight smile. "How are you?"

" _I should be asking you that,_ " Lee said kindly, and I heard the genuine affection in her tone; a rarity with the people I spoke to, including her husband. My relationship with him, my former partner, was rather up and down, but ever since I had saved their daughter up in Dark Hollow, Lee had treated me like one of the family. " _But really, I called to see what happened with Kyle. Frank told me you were meeting with him today. Please tell me you're taking the case. I can't stand to see that boy abused another second."_

There was franticness in her words now, and unconcealed concern. I was glad to be able to take at least some of that away.

"I met with him, and I am," I confirmed consolingly, setting my pen down on top of my notebook with a quiet breath.

Lee let out a sigh, like a huge weight had been lifted off her.

" _Oh, thank you, Charlie_ ," she exclaimed gratefully. " _I know you probably shouldn't be working so soon after getting out of the hospital. But I'm sure Frank told you about Debhos getting away with killing Kyle's mother; Walter's tried to help, but there's not a lot he can do from New York and, short of killing Debhos myself, there isn't much I can do, either."_

I understood her dilemma and Frank's; it was the plight of every person who ever saw someone getting hurt but couldn't do anything about it without compromising something of ourselves in the process. I'd experienced it myself many times before, and it was a pain like no other, one I wouldn't wish on anyone-especially someone as good as Lee.

That was the other reason I couldn't resist getting involved in this. It would have been the only reason had Kyle's problems not struck such a chord with me.

"I'm fine, Lee," I assured her, waving away her concern-although I tried not to sound so cavalier about it, lest she think there was something else underneath it. I couldn't quite keep myself from making a sarcastic quip, though. "As long as this Debhos guy doesn't try to sleep with me, I'll stay that way."

Lee let out a fake chiding laugh as I continued to speak.

"Speaking of which, you wouldn't happen to know where Debhos works, do you? I'd like to try and get a glimpse of him before I decide how to handle it."

" _Oh,_ " I could tell Lee wasn't prepared for me to ask that. " _I'm afraid I don't. I think Frank said he did something to do with construction, but I don't really recall. I can ask him to find out and get back to you?_ "

I set my pen down. It wasn't really what I was hoping for, but it wasn't nothing, either. "I'd really appreciate it, thanks."

I heard Lee give a hum of assent.

" _I'll call him right now. Oh, and Charlie? Thanks again_ ," Lee repeated before ending the call.

I put my phone back in my pocket, then went to go find my laptop. I didn't know long it would take for Tedor to get me what I wanted, so, in the meantime, I was going to try discovering it on my own,


	5. Chapter 5

They are circling now, just as they have been for decades; they are falling, descending in a slow arc, landing so gently that their approach can barely be perceived. They are shadows in the form of men, and the one who leads them has set his sights on his next target.

The boy was similar to the last: he'd seen in him something of the Other, the one who'd begun all of this. It was buried, but it was there, just as it had been in their previous subject and it was only going to be a matter of coaxing it to the surface.

They have been watching him since the beginning, waiting for the perfect chance to strike. Their legion lurks on the fringes of society, men and women constructed to act as catalysts for awakening the true natures of those who caught their attention.

Faster they come, the spirals narrowing and the darkness growing ever thicker to surround their perch. They have done this before: the last time one of their creations had been sent to elicit this reaction from a subject had gone just as they intended this one to. That boy had acted exactly how their leader had orchestrated. He'd performed the way they knew he would, and their reaper had been born.

This one would not go any different; after all, this boy had been chosen for sharing similar traits to that one. And that wasn't all they shared. Their places of birth, their out-of-wedlock conceptions and the less than savoury circumstances of their fathers' deaths; they were almost exact mirrors of one another.

Their leader had chosen one of their most repugnant beasts for the job, one who had a real skill for bring out the worst in those he interacted with, which was exactly what he was made for. His job-his whole reason for being-was to force their subject to realize his true potential and drive him right into their clutches.

Like the one who had come before him, however, he will draw the attention of the deity long slumbering but now awake, the Captain the God of Wasps, the One Who Waits Behind the Glass.

The Old God has been observing the Reapers since their inception and taken special interest in one of their number before. Now he has sent His child into the fray, and he will discover what lies buried inside him as well.


	6. Chapter 6

Unfortunately, my independent investigation into Debhos didn't turn up much, I discovered a couple of records, but none of them told me anything of value-not even if Debhos was his first or last name.

I did discover the newspaper for Kyle's hometown, and there was an article about his mother's murder.

It was titled 'Local Woman Killed at Bar'; according to what the reporter had written, Natalie Brandt had been found beaten to death in the parking lot of a well-known drinking establishment that was frequented by the resident labourers. Some of the bar's other patrons had heard yelling outside, but apparently no one had been able-or willing-to identify who had been arguing with Natalie before she'd died.

That told me something of value at least; Debhos was possibly a labourer, or at least was friends with some of them. That could give me a clue as to where he worked and an avenue to hopefully find out more about his identity.

I continued to read the article in depth, writing down the highlights as I did so. The reporter didn't appear to be very interested in the fact that a murder had been committed; he seemed more intent on illustrating how it had been black-on-black violence and how that was the read problem in their town. It wasn't crime; it was the 'coloureds' propensity toward it.

My lips thinned at that; it probably wasn't my place to judge, but that town didn't sound like the greatest place for someone like Kyle. I mean, most places in the country weren't exactly welcoming towards those of 'colour' but it sounded like Caindar was especially stuck in the dark ages with regards to race equality.

Just like, apparently, Louis' hometown had been; the similarities were piling up even more.

And, as if to add to that, my phone rang on the table again, showing Lee Cole's name and number. I picked up immediately, hoping the call meant she had the information I was really looking for.

"Hey," I said, trying not to sound as impatient as I was feeling. I had just started this case, but I was already heavily invested in it. The similarity to my friend's past and the danger to a child had made it impossible to resist. "Do you have something for me?"

Despire the seriousness of the situation, I heard Lee let out a slight laugh.

" _I do,_ " she confirmed. There was what sounded like papers rustling and then, she continued, " _I think Debhos runs a couple of work crews in town; they do a lot of building construction and repair, and I think they have a site somewhere near a bar called…the Tar Pit, I think it is? Sorry, I can't really remember. That's unfortunately all Frank could get when he arrested him."_

I wrote those facts down as well. It wasn't that much more, but it was something. If I couldn't locate Debhos at work, maybe I could observe him while he was in the bar some night, where he wasn't acting for his employees. That could actually be better than what I'd originally planned.

"It's fine," I replied in a conciliatory tone, setting my pen down again and lifting my shoulders in a shrug. "It's enough for now; I can check him out at work or at the bar. Thanks for the help."

" _Of course,_ " Lee dismissed my gratitude. " _Anything else you need, just ask. I'll do whatever I can to help if it means it'll get Kyle away from that…_ man."

I could tell 'man' wasn't really the term she wanted to use, and I had to suppress a laugh of my own.

"I'll keep that in mind," I told her amiably.

We exchanged a little more small talk about Kyle and Walter before she had to get off the phone to finish making dinner for her and her husband. I told her to give Walter my regards, then we both hung up.

I made myself dinner as well shortly after and ate, turning on some music. I knew what my next move was going to be; I'd head back to Caindar in the morning again and try to establish a firsthand impression of Debhos. If he was really as bad as Tedor and Lee and Kyle all made him out to be, I would be able to tell, and I would know that simply talking to him wouldn't get him out of Kyle and his family's life. I didn't want to have to resort to more drastic measures, but we would see.

* * *

The cold was still holding on to the streets like a frightened child clings to its mother, and it followed me even as I made my way back to Caindar the next morning; the rain streaming from the sky was freezing even before it hit the ground, covering the roads with a layer of ice.

I drove slow out of Scarborough; but I strangely didn't feel the effects of the frigid weather. Maybe it was because of my thick coat, but I had an inkling that it was something else.

I turned the radio up, so it would drown out the staccato beat of the steadily increasing shower-and the rising troubling thoughts inside my head-and I had to suppress a shiver of a different kind. What I had uncovered about the man currently terrorizing the Brandts', along with what I knew about Louis' history and the connections between those stories, was running around in my mind in circles and it was deeply unsettling.

Knowing it, I knew I had to approach this delicately; from what I'd gleaned from Tedor and Lee, Debhos most likely wouldn't be too pleased by a stranger prying into his business and I didn't want this case to turn violent.

At least, not right off the bat.

Caindar was quite deserted this early in the day, and in this kind of weather; everyone was seeking shelter off the streets-just like yesterday. That made my job a bit more difficult; unless Debhos was wiling to brave the ice-or was a day drinker-my two most probable locations for him would be a bust.

I decided to pay a visit to the police detective who had hired me, Frank Tedor before anywhere else, both as a matter of courtesy and to possibly aid me in my search for my subject.

I had visited quite a few police precincts over the course of my work and most of them were pretty uniform, with allowance for a few details here and there. The Caindar one, however, was quite different.

It was housed in a rather small post-war building that, in my opinion, had just barely survived the war. The windows were faintly fractured and grimy, and it looked like it would take only a breeze slightly stronger than the current one could cause it to crumble or keel over.

There was hardly any parking, so I had to detour to a side street in order to stop my car. I'd left the Mustang at home today since it wasn't exactly the best vehicle for what I needed to do here, so I was in my Audi. It was less noticeable, but only marginally.

I activated my car alarm and slid my keys into my coat pocket before heading up to the ramshackle precinct.

Even outside my car, I was still unaffected by the growing chill; it was even more glacial here than it had been in Scarborough, yet I didn't feel it in the slightest.

The wind was picking up as I entered, and it followed me, ruffling the stacks of papers on the reception desk as I opened the door-and there was a lot of paper. I guess they didn't really believe in computers, or their computers weren't really able to hold all the necessary information the force needed them to.

"Can I help you?" one of the officers at the check-in desk asked me as I approached, standing up to meet my gaze.

I once again attempted to make myself appear as unthreatening as possible before responding.

"I need to speak to Detective Frank Tedor," I said politely.

"Why, does he owe you money?" a deep, obviously male voice cut in from behind me, prompting me to turn around.

The speaker was in surprisingly good shape, a sharp contrast to the place I was seeing him in-as was the suit he wore underneath his brown jacket.

But the real source of bemusement was his skin tone: in a town that would churn out the kind of article I'd read about Kyle's mother's murder, I didn't expect to see a black police detective, but here was one right in front of me.

"In a manner of speaking," I quipped cheekily, unable to stop myself. But I turned serious pretty quickly. "I assume I'm looking at him?"

The taller man-Frank-inclined his head in an affirmative, expression becoming serious as well.

"And I guess I'm looking at the famous Detective Charlie Parker?" he accurately surmised my identity, and when I nodded as well, he beckoned me to follow him. "We can talk in my office."

I allowed myself to be lead into what turned out to be just a rear corner of the precinct with a significantly smaller desk set up and a metal chair tucked into it.

Yet the detective didn't seem that much worse for the wear because of the sorry state of his office-other than the few pronounced lines on his forehead, but I didn't think those were actually because of that.

"So," Frank began, scavenging another chair to place on the other side of the desk and gesturing for me to sit before doing so himself. "You're down here looking to find Debhos?"

"That's right," I confirmed, lowering myself carefully into the-questionable-seat. "You told Lee Cole that he manages work crews? Any idea if and where they might be working today?"

A grim expression came over the other man's face and he shook his head dismally.

"I tried to a little more digging after Lee told me you'd taken the case last night-stayed up the whole night, too-but," he opened a drawer of his desk and withdrew a thin folder. "I didn't get anything except what I already knew. And I hate to say it, but your best bet would probably be checking him out at the Brandts'; though I'd advise against actually approaching him there."

I let out a quiet sigh.

"I came to that same conclusion, but I was hoping to avoid it," I admitted in an equally dismayed tone. I reached for the file. "Mind if I take this? Maybe I'll be able to find something you've missed."

Most police officers would have given me some bluster about contaminating their property or acted offended that I might be able to see something they couldn't; but that wasn't what Tedor did. He simply waved a hand. "Please do; I hope there's something in there that I just haven't seen yet."

"Thank you," I said, tucking the folder underneath my arm and getting to my feet again. "I'll let you know how things go."

"Parker," Frank stood up abruptly as well, catching my attention just as I was about to leave. "The men who gave Debhos his alibi for Natalie's murder, they're bad; but Debhos is even worse. This may sound crazy, but when I confronted him, there was a coldness about him that was almost…inhuman."

I look back at him over my shoulder, my face remaining studiedly neutral. That was something I had heard before; so, I didn't think it was crazy. There were things in this world that weren't human, that believe they are more. And if Debhos was one of those, then it was even more imperative that I get him away from Kyle as soon as possible.

"Trust me, it doesn't," I assured Tedor cryptically; but I didn't elaborate further. I didn't want to walk out of here and have Frank think _I_ was the one who was crazy.

I exited then, opening the file to search out Kyle's address again. I knew I couldn't talk to Debhos there, but I could at least try and establish a visual.

Kyle's home was near the edge of town, on a street known as Bryer Lane. It, like the police headquarters, wasn't exactly high-class living; the walls were cracked, and the roof looked as though it was in serious need of repair.

His family was entirely composed of women, and a few of them were out in the front yard, pinning laundry to lines and tending to gardens. It was about eight am, so Kyle should have been on the way to school; there was a male on the porch, but it wasn't him.

He was extremely out of place among all the worn dress-clad women with their slight figures and dainty features. He was also dark-skinned, but his facial features were pockmarked and sallow. He was scarred, too-not on his face, but elsewhere. And, unlike the women he was commanding, he was dressed in what clearly once been expensive quality clothing: his designer shirt was pulled tight over his broad chest, showing harsh lines and sharp angles that spoke of a predilection for violence.

He was watching the women work with a distinctly predatory shadow over his face, and a little toy whistle tied to a string he wore around his neck, clutched between his thumb and forefinger, poised to be blown.

That changed a few minutes later, though: the front door opened and I caught sight of Kyle walking out with a backpack slung over his shoulder.

I ducked down so he wouldn't see me; but I needn't have worried. As he passed Debhos, all his focus was on the older man-and Debhos in turn swiveled his gaze toward the younger.

They stared at each other, and a dark frisson went between them that told me all I needed to know about their relationship. Kyle knew what Debhos had done to his mother and that he hadn't been punished for it; he'd told me that Debhos had warned him against talking to anyone about it, and I could see that in his eyes. That predatory look intensified, and I got a feeling like it was a threat: either Debhos was going to hurt Kyle, or Kyle was going to do something terrible to get him out of his family's life.

That was the clincher: I couldn't let Kyle compromise himself like that. I, more than anyone, could appreciate his desire to protect his relatives, but he was just a kid. That shouldn't be his responsibility. And since I could do something about it, I was going to.

But not alone. I was going to need some help-so I called on some friends who had some experience in getting rid of people like this.


	7. Chapter 7

Every citizen of the town of Rehoboth Beach was talking about it, the fire that had taken down the house on that nondescript road midway between them and Dewey Beach. Not much was known about the pair that had been staying there; the two men had kept pretty much to themselves. The younger man barely left the place more than a few moments at a time, never going further than the local grocer-as far as the neighbours could tell-and the elder was hardly seen at all.

Most had assumed they were a couple, as several of the homes in the area were inhabited by gay men. Even with the age difference, they hadn't been judged; rainbow flags still flew here and there, for Rehoboth was as gay-friendly as a town could be. That said, they'd never talked to anyone, so there had been no evidence to confirm or deny the assumption. And now there never would be.

No one knew the cause of the fire; the younger man had been seen smoking on the lawn, so it was rumoured that it might have been because of a lit cigarette gone astray or a burning match being left unextinguished. The police hadn't found any trace of either, however, so there was nothing concrete to support their theory that it was an accident. There was no evidence of anything, actually.

At least, not yet.

The man who approached the scene three days later wasn't a police detective, that much was obvious. He was black, but that wasn't why. No, it was his clothes that marked him out as something other than an officer of the law: in his dark leather coat and clearly designer suit, he appeared more like a lawyer or some kind of extremely rich businessman (a notion that wasn't too far off from the truth).

His eyes observed the lot with critical scrutiny, taking it all in and going over what he'd been able to find out. No one knew who the residents of the now decimated house had been; no one knew where they had come from or how long they'd been there. No one even knew their real names.

They could have been anyone, but they were who he'd been looking for. He'd known that as soon as he and his partner had seen the false name on the deed to the house in the town's records, and he knew he had to investigate further.

He bypassed the yellow crime scene tape around the site without a second glance, striding right into the remains of the house. There was hardly anything left, just broken wooden beams and scraps of charred paper, appearing to be remnants of files or something; nothing that would tell him what had caused the fire.

The man withdrew a pair of gloves and tugged them onto his dark hands before beginning to sift through the wreckage, searching for anything that would give him a clue. The destruction was more total than anything he had ever seen before, more than would be caused by a single misplaced cigarette or unattended match, more than if the flames had been set unintentionally.

A few moments later, he was joined by a second man, who might have been Hispanic or Latino or a lot of things. He was about a foot shorter than the first and looked more like someone who was likely to have committed the crime rather than be investigating it.

"So, what's the verdict, then?" he asked the other man out of the corner of his mouth as he came to a stop in the center of the rubble, nose wrinkling in a grimace at the blackness on the ice beneath his feet.

The black man wasn't immediately forthcoming with a response, continuing to rummage around the remains of the house with a single-minded determination; but all he found was more ashes and more charred wood. Nothing to support the theory that this had merely been the result of someone's carelessness.

After a deliberate pause, he pushed himself back into a standing position with his hands on his thighs and turned to meet the white man's gaze.

"The police got this one wrong; this was no accident," he declared firmly, brushing off the front of his trousers, conviction evident on his dark features.

His partner would have usually disagreed or argued, just to be contradictory, but for once, he did nothing of the sort; in fact, he inclined his head.

"I saw the bodies; it looked like the fire got real up close and personal with them. No way that happened without someone else controlling it," he agreed, nose wrinkling slightly. He tilted his chin at the ruins. "We know how it really happened?"

The dark-skinned man shook his head.

"No trace of gas or matches or any kind of accelerant. Either whoever did this did a really good job cleaning up after themselves, or they found some other way of starting a fire."

This time, his companion was the one who didn't say anything for a few moments. He was trying to think of any other way that one could burn a house down; he didn't make a habit of doing so, however, so nothing came to mind.

But there was something in the air there, something that didn't smell like smoke or gas or anything you would usually smell in the remains of a conflagration like this. No, it was something almost…unnatural.

He pressed his lips together.

"Well, I guess that's that, then," he concluded quietly, shooting another sideways glance at his partner before they turned to depart the scene.

* * *

The two men made their way back to their car, which they'd parked a block away, on the corner of a back street so they wouldn't be seen entering the premises. They didn't speak again until they were inside and alone.

"Who do you think did it?" Angel asked as the engine was turned over and they began their drive away from the crime scene, taking care not to skid on the ice.

The driver, Louis, lifted his shoulders in a shrug.

"It obviously wasn't us, or anyone we know. I wouldn't be surprised if he'd made other enemies, though, given all the things he's done," he said conversationally, not looking at him, his gaze focused only on the street.

Angel watched him, jaw working as he contemplated his own question. They'd hunted the Collector for several months, along with the detective; they'd nearly had him in that place up in Newark about nine weeks ago, but he'd somehow managed to scuttle away. Then, of course, Parker had been shot and they'd had to put the chase aside to find his attackers. The Collector had helped with that, so they'd agreed to call off the dogs. But they continued to try and stay apprised of his whereabouts, which was how they'd come to hear about the fire in Rehoboth Beach-and the two victims it had claimed.

Angel was pretty sure he knew why Louis wasn't sold on the judgement that their deaths had been an accident. The level of ruination aside, the Collector was not the sort to leave a match or a cigarette lying around; especially when it was an explosion that had injured his father and eventually lead to them being on the run. And Angel knew that, too. Someone had started the fire deliberately.

The question was, if it wasn't them or anyone they knew, then who?

Another silence passed between them before a thought seemed to occur to Louis and he spoke again.

"We need to talk to Parker," he stated lowly, hands clenched over the curve of the steering wheel, his eyes still steeled straight ahead.

Angel's head snapped to the side to look at him again, a frown wrinkling his forehead at his partner's comment.

"You don't think _he_ did it?"

There was no way; Parker knew about the arrangement they'd had with the Collector, and he wouldn't make liars out of them. Moreover, he wouldn't have a way to set a fire without anything to ignite one.

At least, not as far as either of them knew.

"He knows about things like this, and he'd want to hear it from us," the black man reasoned matter-of-factly, deliberately avoiding the question-because he didn't want to say what he was really thinking. Even if they thought Parker hadn't been able to do this, that didn't mean that they were right.

And if he had actually done it, then they knew him well enough that they should be able to tell.

Angel knew what he wasn't saying by not answering the question. He didn't press, though; if Louis wasn't telling him something, it was for a good reason. He trusted him; he knew that he would give him his answer when it was the right time.

Silence filled the car again, broken only when Louis turned on the radio. They took turns selecting the music and tonight it was Louis' turn.

Angel generally would have complained, but like he'd refrained from disputing Louis' notion of the intentional manner of the fire, tonight he did not. His mind was still on everything he'd seen back in Rehoboth: the state of the Collector and the lawyer's bodies, the devastation where their safehouse had been.

And that scent; they were about a mile outside town when it finally occurred to him that he had smelled it before-and where. In the hospital, when they'd gone to visit Parker just after he'd woken from his coma, it had been in his room.

Angel's brows furrowed at the discovery. If it had been there, and here, then that meant Parker could be the one who had set the fire, the one who had killed the house's residents.

But if that was true, how had he done it?

Louis was right; they really did need to talk to Parker.


	8. Chapter 8

The Red Mill on Water St was an uncommonly quiet venue that night; usually, it was just as busy as its sister restaurant up in Augusta. Perhaps it was the cold keeping people away, just as it was forcing people in to other, more conveniently positioned establishments.

It was located close to a small river and was rather difficult to find if you didn't already know where it was. I, however, had been there once or twice before and remembered the place well, particularly because of the sedate décor and the politeness of its usual patrons: as long as you didn't disturb the peace, you were pretty much left alone, which was perfect for tonight. The men I was dining with didn't appreciate intrusiveness.

The chill was particularly biting that night, which, I supposed, was most likely why there were only ten or so other people inside. That also worked out well for me: I was able to snag one of the best tables in the house, a booth on the center left that wasn't too close to any others and had a great view of their gardens. The lights in the crystal chandelier overhead were on low, casting faint illumination over the paintings on the walls; they changed them out every few months, and I didn't recognize the current ones.

Not that I was paying them much attention; my mind was still on my trip to Caindar and what I'd witnessed at the Brandts' house. Debhos' abuse of Kyle's mother and now his aunt was inflicting terror on all of the women of the household. Moreover, it was putting Kyle on a precipice; if Kyle didn't end up doing something extreme to get rid of him, then Debhos would probably kill him and the rest of his family. Neither outcome was very appealing to me.

I could see now why Walter had thought I'd be the one to help Tedor with this. I wondered, though, if he knew exactly what Kyle's story was bringing up for me, and why.

As if in response to my thoughts, the very reason sauntered into the restaurant at that moment, appearing none too pleased as he shook the moisture off the hood of his leather coat. I couldn't blame him: that coat probably cost more than my entire wardrobe, and the snow probably wasn't doing it any favours.

The man behind him, on the other hand, even the snow couldn't make his attire any worse; a mud splatter couldn't make that eighties bomber jacket look any worse.

"Man, this is supposed to be summer, isn't it?" he complained, shaking his jacket out in front of him and earning him several dirty looks from the other patrons as water droplets sprayed in their direction. He paid them no mind, though, and simply continued his bitching. "Feels more like a second Ice Age out there."

As they came to join me, I raised my eyes just in time to see the taller of the two's face slide into a long-suffering expression-one I'd seen him wear more than once before.

"The trash bin didn't have a proper winter coat in it, Angel?" I quipped, eying the jacket critically; it definitely was not appropriate for the current weather.

Angel turned his irritated gaze over to me.

"I shouldn't need one in the middle of May," he griped, draping his monstrosity of a coat over the back of the chair across from me before lowering himself into it with his arms crossed.

"Well, don't get mad at me. I don't control the weather," I replied, holding my hands up in a gesture of helplessness. _That's not, strictly speaking, true at this point._

The ex-burglar rolled his eyes, hunching his shoulders.

"Maybe not, but I think the weather's having a bad reaction to you."

I rolled my own eyes at the accusatory comment, hiding an affectionate smile. I hadn't seen these two since I'd woken up in the hospital and we'd had that conversation about the Collector; they'd done everything, even risked compromising themselves, in order to avenge my shooting, this enigmatic, soft-spoken killer and his partner. Because of that, my feelings for them had altered since then. Our bond had always gone beyond that of simple friendship, but it was even more to me now. I hadn't told them, though; besides there not having been much time to do so, I didn't know exactly how to put it into words, or how they would react if I did. I didn't want to complicate their lives any further by pulling them any deeper into mine, so I'd chosen to let it lie.

Seeing them again, however, and engaging in our usual banter, I felt an emotion I couldn't quite identify; a peculiar kind of warmth that I hadn't experienced in their presence before.

I didn't know what it meant, but I had an inkling.

"I don't think it's just Parker the weather is having a bad reaction to," Louis put his two cents in, the corners of his mouth quirking so slightly it was barely perceptible, shooting a stern glance at his lesser half.

Angel's irritation transferred to him as he continued to shiver-although it wasn't that cold inside the restaurant-but he didn't make a retort, apparently finally out of them.

Silence reigned for a few moments until a waitress caught sight of Louis and made a beeline straight for our table.

"Can I start you off with some drinks…gentlemen?" she greeted us, hesitating on the word 'gentlemen' when she saw Angel, but then following through with it firmly at the sight of his partner.

I lifted my glass while my companions gave the drinks menu a critical once-over. "I've got mine, thanks."

Louis decided to try an Andrew's English Ale out of Lincolnville, with a bottle of white wine to follow; Angel opted for a Bar Harbor Blueberry Ale.

The waitress smiled and left to go get their beers, giving us all time to decide what to eat. When she returned, I ordered the roasted chicken and salad. My two companions taunted me about my phobia of seafood-as they had many times before-and Louis ordered lobster, while Angel went for the 20-ounce burger and fries.

His partner eyed him again when he asked for that.

"You sure you want to eat all that?" he quipped, cocking an eyebrow.

"Why wouldn't I?" Angel retorted, putting his hands on his hip and clearly daring Louis to say something.

The semi-retired assassin had never been one to shrink from a challenge.

"You taking up a chair and a half as it is; you trying to go for two?" he stated disdainfully, shaking his head in mock disapproval.

"Are you saying I'm fat?"

"Well, if you're not, then we gonna have to redefine the meaning of fat," he quipped, taking a sip of his ale.

Usually, I would have joined in on the ribbing, but for now, I was content to just sit and watch. It lightened my mood somewhat and would hopefully make it easier for me to bring up what I wanted to talk to them about.

The banter continued until our food was served and the waitress had departed again; then the discussion turned a little more serious.

"You seemed pretty deep in thought when we came in. You working on something big over there?" Louis commented, addressing me with a tilt of his chin.

My smile slid off my face and I pressed my lips together, taking another sip of my drink to stall for time while. Of course, I had planned on telling them about the case, but now that they were actually here, I wasn't sure I should; I was wary of how they-or more importantly, Louis- would behave upon finding out a portion of their history was repeating itself.

But I needed their help-and, selfishly, I wanted them with me for this. So, I took a deep breath and began to explain.

"My latest case," I replied. "A police officer in Caindar has asked me to help with bringing in a suspect on a murder case."

Angel stopped eating at that, holding a French fry halfway toward his mouth, an eyebrow lifting.

"I thought you weren't supposed to be working," he pointed out, doing a pretty good impression of a disapproving parent. But his concern was unwarranted.

"I'm fine," I assured him firmly. My gaze shifted to Louis as I added, "Besides, there's a very good reason why I couldn't say no to him."

Louis looked up from his food as well, meeting my eyes with an unreadable expression.

"Oh?"

"The murder victim was the mother of a boy called Kyle Brandt. He is fifteen years old, and the suspect was his mother's boyfriend, who he and the officer say was abusing her, and is now doing the same to her aunt."

There was a quiet thud as Angel dropped the fry he'd been holding, and his head turned to his partner as well, forehead wrinkling warily. I saw a hint of what could have been fear in his eyes, and I couldn't blame him. I myself was kind of afraid of what Louis might do.

Louis, however, remained as impassive as ever. At first, I didn't even think he'd heard me; but then, he spoke.

"This suspect, he have a name?"

"Debhos," I answered, hesitating a little: I couldn't tell what Louis was thinking, but he couldn't possibly fail to recognize the similarity to the name of the man who had killed _his_ mother. _Which once again brought up the question of if it was on purpose, if these events were reoccurring for a reason._

 _Their machinations manipulations what do you do when you realize you have been a pawn in a game much bigger than anything you could ever imagine_

A muscle jumped in his jaw before he finally responded.

"The man who killed my family was named Deber," he declared lowly, lips barely moving as he appeared to recall what had to be an incredibly painful memory, something I imagined he'd buried deep within his subconscious-because you could never really forget something like that.

He said it like it should be news to me, and I darted a look at Angel: obviously, he hadn't told his partner that I knew about how he'd become a Reaper. That put me in a kind of awkward position here and he knew it; at least he had the courtesy to look guilty about it.

I didn't want to lie to Louis, so I admitted it.

"I know. That's part of why I took the case: I know about Deber and what he did to you, and I didn't want it to happen to someone else," I tried to make it clear that I didn't have anything against what Louis was; but that I thought, if given the choice, he wouldn't have wanted to become this exact person and I wanted Kyle to have that choice. I didn't want him to grow up with the same kind of regret.

I didn't know if I was successful or not because he barely even twitched.

"What are you planning to do to stop it?" he simply asked, tone and posture completely inscrutable.

Feeling like I had averted a crisis, I relaxed marginally and lifted my shoulders in a shrug.

"Most likely not what you did," I said in an attempt at levity before turning sober again. "But, to be honest, I don't really know what to do since I want to avoid using violence, if at all possible."

Angel, apparently, couldn't hold back an ironic snort.

"You couldn't avoid violence even if you became a priest," he quipped with a sudden return to his normal acerbic tone. "Besides, if you're not going to hurt him, how are you going to get him in custody? If he's anything like Deber, he probably won't go quietly."

"Well, that's why I called you two," I stated. "I want to try to stay out of the hospital for a while, but you don't have that hang up."

Angel let out another, mockingly offended snort.

"Oh, I see. So, we're just your enforcers now."

I shrugged a second time.

"Hey, if the gun holster fits…"

I trailed off, then switched back to a more serious tone. "But I would rather deal with this in a more legal way-at least, to begin with."

Angel and Louis shared a brief look of silent communication. I knew I was asking a lot; there were not gentle men. Subverting violence was not their style; but they had done so, more than once, at my instigation, and I was hoping they would be willing to do so again. But I was fully prepared to let it go if either of them showed any reluctance.

Louis took a sip of his wine, then, seeming to come to some kind of conclusion, spoke up again.

"We can try it your way first," he agreed. "I can reach out to some people, see if they know anything about this guy that might be able to convince him to back off." He slanted his eyes back toward me. "That is, if you're sure that's really how you want to play it."

I nodded an affirmative, barely restraining a sigh of relief.

"I'm sure. I just thought I needed you two strong guys to protect me if that didn't work," I joked; I was incredibly grateful, but we didn't do the touchy feely thank you's.

Although, at that moment, I felt an unexpected urge to express my gratitude in a more… _physical_ way. I didn't know where it came from, but I, fortunately, managed to suppress it; I didn't think it would go over too well in a public restaurant.

Angel snorted a third time, finishing the last of his burger before posing a question.

"This guy who hired you, did he tell you anything useful about your suspect, or did he just point you in his direction like a cannon and say 'take him down for me'?"

I shook my head, both at the comment and as a negative to the question.

"No, but he didn't give me that much, either. All he knows-all anyone seems to know, even the internet-about this guy is where he works, where he drinks and that he's a bad guy. Other than that, it's like he's nobody; I don't even know if Debhos is his first name or his last."

Louis pressed his lips together, appearing to ponder-and once again, I wondered if that was another thing that Debhos shared with Deber.

"Normally, when information about someone is that hard to find, it's either because they have something to hide, or because their job is something that requires them to be off the radar," he stated.

I didn't argue; he would know, after all. Being a former assassin, his past didn't bear close scrutiny, so it was well-concealed and disguised.

Which brought up another interesting notion.

"Do you think he's like you? Another Reaper, or something like one?" I wondered shrewdly, unsettled by that possibility.

"I don't recall him being a Reaper, but he could part of a different organization. I could ask around; it might take some time, though," he suggested.

I let out a quiet breath. Time was one thing I didn't really want to take; if what I had witnessed at the Brandt house between Kyle and Debhos was any indicator, things would be coming to a head between them pretty soon. But, if this was the only way I could avoid doing something drastic myself, then I guess I would just have to hope it would hold off.

"See what you can get; in the meantime, I'll look at other ways to get more of a picture of him," I said, tilting my head toward him in thanks.

Well, things wouldn't be going quicker; but I had the expectation that, now Louis was involved, matters would go a lot more smoothly.

* * *

The rest of the night went by pretty quickly after that; after getting Louis and Angel's aid on my case, we turned the conversation to less weighty subjects while we finished our food and paid our bill.

I was feeling pretty good about the results of the evening, and comforted.

That changed as I was walking my two companions to their car.

"So, what else have you been doing since you got out of the hospital? Been anywhere interesting?" Angel asked in a feigned conversational tone, acting like it was a throwaway question of no real importance.

The seeming randomness of the question threw me off.

"Like where?" I replied, a puzzled crease appearing on my forehead.

I could tell Angel was attempting to be subtle about his approach to whatever he wanted to find out, so he was uncharacteristically quiet for a few seconds while he decided how best to phrase his next inquiry.

"You didn't happen to go up Rehoboth Beach recently?" he wondered deceptively casually.

I had to force myself not to stumble in my tracks. That was where Eldritch and his 'son' had been in that dream of mine. Why would Angel be asking me if I'd been there?

I slowly smoothed my face out so neither him nor Louis would see the consternation starting to build inside me as I spoke again. "Why?"

Angel cast a sideways glance at Louis, and he continued for his partner.

"Night before last, a contact of mine called: told me that the Collector was hiding there. We went to check it out, but he and the lawyer were already dead; looked like it happened two or three days ago," he explained, his gaze slightly narrowed as he focused on me as well, looking like they were trying to peel me apart.

I heard the words as if from a distance, like they were being told to someone else; I couldn't grasp them. I couldn't believe that the Collector was really dead. I'd hoped it was just some bizarre nightmare, but apparently, at least part of it was true.

But the other part…

"How did it happen?" I heard myself ask, the hair on the back of my neck standing on end, my whole body tense as I waited for the answer.

"A fire," Louis informed me.

My God. My God.

It was true; it had really happened. Those black flames danced before my eyes and echoes of the Collector's screams filled my ears as Louis' statement sank in. He wouldn't lie to me about this; he had no reason to. That meant my nightmare had been real: the Collector and the lawyer had been killed in a fire that had come from my bare hands-not a match or a lighter or any kind of accidental source.

How was that possible?

"They're calling it an accident, but it didn't look that way to me. There was no sign of gas or an accelerant; and the way the bodies burned, it looked like they caught the most of the flames first."

My breath stuttered in my throat. I didn't feel bad about knowing I'd really killed the Collector, but I did feel astonishment that I'd really done so in the incredible manner I'd dreamt. I didn't know what to think about this, and I definitely didn't know what to tell Louis and Angel. They were usually the ones who I could talk to about anything, but this…I didn't even know if I could say it aloud.

 _Little by little they chip away at your humanity to reveal the monster within_

They were both watching now, scrutinizing me, presumably attempting to surmise if I'd had anything to do with it, if I was going to conceal my involvement from them. I could have faked offense, but I knew they were right to be suspicious. I hadn't agreed to leave the Collector alone when they'd told me that they had; I had accepted their arrangement, but I hadn't said I'd adhere to it.

I knew I had to at least try to tell them something; they deserved that much.

"I…might have had something to do with that," I admitted slowly, swallowing hard around my suddenly incredibly dry mouth. "About three nights ago, I had-I don't know what you'd call it-kind of a vision about the Collector. I was in Rehoboth Beach; I found him and the lawyer and I," I paused again, then forced the rest of the words out. "The fire came out of my hands-and it burned them alive."

A heavy silence followed my pronouncement as my companions digested what I'd told them. I waited with bated breath for their response; I wanted them to say I was crazy. It would be easier than accepting the truth.

Sometime after the sixty second mark had passed, I mustered up the courage to look at them again. I could see that they were both deep in thought-or as deep in thought as Angel could be-and Louis was frowning. It wasn't a frown I had seen him wear before; it was one I couldn't quite identify, one that gave me an odd feeling.

"You had a vision," Angel repeated finally after the longest minute and a half of my life, sounding like he couldn't decide whether he should believe me or have me committed. He peered more closely at me, causing me a sort of discomfort I'd never experienced with him before; the longer it went on, the less he seemed to think I was raving, however.

But Louis was the one who was really starting to look like he thought I was telling the truth.

"You set a fire without a match or a lighter and killed them both with it," Louis paraphrased, appearing to be thinking aloud.

I nodded slowly, wondering what exactly he was thinking.

"That's what I saw myself do in the vision, for lack of a better word."

 _Dreams are sometimes omens, impressions of what is to come; or the brain's way of showing buried memories_

His frown morphed into a cross between incredulity and astonishment-granted, it was muted, but it was still more emotion that I'd ever seen him display before.

"What was it those Believers always thought about you?" he said in a seemingly offhand matter; but I knew better. He was considering all explanations for this-even ones I hadn't wanted to.

I swallowed hard, hands in my pockets to keep them from shaking.

"They thought I was a dark angel, one who had fallen away when they were all cast out of Heaven," I explained hesitantly, heart beating erratically in my ears. I'd never even considered that their belief could be true; I'd told the rabbi Epstein last year that there had been too many opportunities before for it to come to the surface if it was.

But now, knowing what I had been able to do, setting a fire more or less without conscious thought or action and killing two people, it was beginning to look like I was going to have seriously reconsider my stance.

 _You are not what they think you are you are so much worse_

And Louis and Angel, unsettlingly, seemed to agree with me.

"Maybe it's time you gave that another thought, too," the former assassin stated carefully as we arrived at the black Lexus.

I stood there, not saying anything while they got into their car. I didn't want to admit that they might be right; I didn't want to think that I was some fallen angel or something. I pushed it to the back of my mind, or tried to, anyways. The question of why I had been able to do what I'd done to the Collector could wait until I solved this case.

Or so I thought.


	9. Chapter 9

The man called Debhos had sensed he was being watched.

He'd felt the presence of another pair of eyes on him as he'd been organizing his women like he usually did in the morning and he'd known they weren't the boy's. No, they were much more intense-and old.

He'd been warned that this was coming; he'd known the police officer would seek outside help once he realized he couldn't pin Debhos down for the murder of the boy's mother. And, thanks to his bosses, he knew who Tedor would be urged to go to: the very person that they wanted him to.

So, when he felt an unfamiliar gaze on him that day, he wasn't worried. He'd been trained to handle any complications that might arise over the course of this job-any.

That said, he couldn't help but feel a chill, like the cold finger of death tracing over his spine. He'd read about the detective Parker in the newspapers: he knew what had happened to him-how he'd been shot and nearly killed, but somehow managed to make it out alive. He understood why his bosses were so interested in him: no normal person could have survived that. At least, not and remain the same.

This changed things, he thought, taking a drink of his Scotch as he peered out over the bar. His presence in Caindar meant that Debhos was going to have to speed up his timeline. He was going to have to hasten his plan, _their_ plan to awaken the boy and his powers.

Moreover, someone was going to have to take care of the _other_ detective. If Parker had come here, had been able to find him at the Brandt house, then that meant Tedor had delivered his message. He had outlived his usefulness; therefore, it was time for him to go.

He took another drink, then drew out a burner phone from inside his leather jacket, dialing one of the two numbers saved into it.

The line picked up almost immediately.

" _You were only supposed to call us in an emergency,_ " a deep, almost guttural voice responded curtly, not bothering with a greeting or any other pleasantries, sounding none too pleased to hear from him.

Debhos was undaunted.

"He's here," he said flatly. He didn't have to keep his voice low; the Tar Pit was generally loud enough that he wouldn't be overheard, anyways. And, even if he was, most of the patrons were a part of it; they had this number, too. "Charlie Parker has made his appearance. He came to the boy's house; I felt him watching me."

There was a brief pause as the person on the other end seemed to contemplate that information and formulated a response.

" _That means it's working,_ " the voice said with what was obviously satisfaction; twisted satisfaction that their diabolical scheme was proving effective. " _It's time for you to finish your job; find a way to drive the boy to his breaking point and fulfill his destiny._ "

"And the messenger?" Debhos questioned.

" _We'll send someone else to take care of him. You focus on Kyle Brandt. Dispose of this cellphone before you leave that bar of yours._ "

 _They are all preparations for his arrival_

With that, the call was terminated.

Debhos drained the last of the amber liquid from his glass and set it down on the varnished counter. Then, he left the Tar Pit, removing the battery from his cell as he did so; he dropped it and the device onto the ground and crushed them both beneath his boot.

He left the shattered pieces on the frosted asphalt, departing the parking lot with a determined gleam in his flinty eyes. Matters were going to progress very quickly now.

The game was about to get… _interesting_.

* * *

They were waiting for Tedor when he got off of work.

"Well done."

The dark-skinned detective jumped at hearing that voice from the back seat of his car. He forced himself to turn around, to act like nothing was wrong.

"You played your role well, getting Parker involved. Now he will do what we need; he will become what we need."

"So, I'm done?" Tedor asked hopefully, trying not to show the fear that was drawing goosebumps all over his skin as he stared into those empty voids.

A smile curved his unwelcome visitor's lips.

"You're done."

Tedor let out a sigh of relief, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes.

But it wasn't all sunshine and roses; he still felt a prickle of unease at the notion of what he had done, what he had allowed to be set in motion. He was smart enough to know that there was no way it was really that simple.

"What are you going to do to him?" he asked, chewing on his lip.

A laugh reverberated through the car, a laugh that made the hairs on the back of Tedor's neck stand on end.

"It doesn't matter," that chilling voice whispered, suddenly right next to his ear. An unexpected tightness appeared around Tedor's throat, and he wheezed, eyes flying open in alarm. " _In fact, nothing will matter to you ever again-except maybe how many people will attend your funeral._ "

Tedor thrashed in his seat, attempting to remove whatever was constricting his throat; but it only got tighter, draining the oxygen from his lungs and his limbs until he stilled, too weak to struggle anymore.

When another member of the police department found him a couple of hours later, there was no sign that anyone else had been in the car.

 _Another pawn sacrificed for the rising of the king_


	10. Chapter 10

A frigid wind blew in as the door to the Great Lost Bear opened at just past noon, and Charlie Parker entered, coat slightly damp from the still-raging snow and clutching a folder of papers to his chest.

The detective hadn't set foot in this particular bar in many weeks, not since before the attack that had put him in the hospital. The place hadn't changed: it was still dimly lit and comforting. The kitchen wasn't busy, but Charlie knew it would begin to bustle soon in preparation for the evening rush-although, in weather like this, the term 'rush' would most likely be a relative one.

His presence drew instant attention, not only because of what preceded it, but because of what came with him _a prickle a shiver a shift in the atmosphere even greater than caused by the storm_.

The owner of the establishment, Dave Evans's focus, however, wasn't on him; at least, not at the beginning. He was standing at the host's station, examining a slip of paper over the top of his glasses in a manner that suggested it contained something insulting to his mother, and he didn't look up, not even when the detective's shadow descended upon him.

"I thought you were dead," he said.

"I was."

Dave flicked his gaze from the document to the other man, raking carefully over him, studying him in the bar's distinctive light.

"You look pretty good for it. We have teenagers who look worse than you; hell, _I_ look worse than you."

He set the document in his hands down and reached out to shake Parker's. He'd been to visit him a few times before he'd been released from the hospital but hadn't seen him since then. He didn't know what he'd been doing; his attack had been in the papers, and that was all Dave had heard about him recently.

The detective was different than he'd been in the hospital. Oh sure, on the surface, he appeared the same-other than a few more lines on his face-but his bearing, his manner had completely altered. There was a haunting air about him now, an air of ice, of destruction. He was also quieter, more distant, more reserved.

And his gaze-his gaze was the most altered. If it was to be believed what they said about the eyes being the window to the soul, then Parker's soul burned with a new intensity. His eyes held a cold conviction that Dave had not seen in them before. This was a fundamentally changed man, one who had come back strengthened, not weakened by what he had endured, and who was also both less and more than he once was.

Looking into those eyes, for the first time that he could recall, Dave found himself actually frightened by Charlie Parker.

He did a manful job of not showing it, however; not even when the detective took a step closer.

"Is my office still free? I have something I need to work on and doing it at home isn't really happening," Parker queried. He had a favourite booth that he liked to occupy when he came to the Bear, both for work and not.

Dave arched an eyebrow.

"A case? Is that wise?" he said, taking care not to sound judgemental or accusing. He and Parker had always been on relatively good terms, but he didn't know if this post-shooting Parker had the same temperament as the pre-shooting one.

The corners of Charlie's mouth twitched.

"You know I've never been the kind to do the wise thing," he replied, taking the concern with good humour, and Dave had to conceal a sigh of relief. He hadn't known how Parker would react.

He nodded toward the booth.

"It'll always be free for you, then. So will a place behind the bar, if the mood strikes." He changed tacks to a safer subject; if Parker was taking cases so soon after the incident, that could mean he was in need of money and Dave wanted to help, without seeming like he was dispensing charity.

That said, he couldn't deny that he was a little happy when the detective declined.

"I think I'm okay, thanks. This case isn't about the money and I think I might be pretty busy with it for a while."

Dave nodded a second time.

"Well, if you change your mind, just say something."

"I will," Parker replied before starting to head over to his booth, drawing out the file he had cradled against his chest. "Think I should probably get some of this done. Could I get a cup of coffee?"

"It'll be on its way," Dave consented. "Need anything else?"

"Nothing that you can give me," Parker commented quietly, sounding like he was speaking more to himself. Dave didn't know what to say to that; luckily, he was spared having to say anything as the detective departed, taking a seat in the last booth at the left of the bar and opening the file on top of the table, all of his concentration turning to its contents.

I'd lied to Dave: the main reason I'd come here was because, at home, I couldn't seem to stop thinking about the news I'd gotten the previous night. Being told that the Collector and Eldritch had really been killed, and in as unnatural a manner as in my _dream_ -for lack of a better word-of their deaths had sent my whole world spinning on its axis. I'd had some bizarre experiences before, but this wasn't like any of those.

However, I didn't want it to distract me-not right now. I had a case to solve, and it was convoluted and maddening enough.

Shaking myself, I switched my focus to the open folder I'd laid out on the table in front of me and began to peruse its contents.

Tedor hadn't managed to collect a whole lot of information on Debhos himself; in fact, there was only a marginal amount more than what I'd discovered myself.

I let out a frustrated breath. Solving a mystery had never been this slow before; even if I hadn't been able to immediately catch the perpetrator of a crime, I'd still been at least able to establish their identity by this point-their full name, at least. But this Debhos-it was like he had just sprung from nowhere, purely to inflict mystery on Kyle and his family.

My coffee arrived a moment later and I took an eager sip; I hadn't slept again last night, both because of the revelation about the Collector and because of the case. That was the other reason I'd come here to work: I thought the cold and the company might help keep me alert.

I turned another sheet of paper and found that Tedor did have one piece of information I didn't: the name of the men who had given Debhos his alibi for the time of Natalie Brandt's murder. Michael Weld and Abraham Stone had both gone on record saying that Debhos with them inside the Tar Pit the entire night, and Kyle's mother had been killed in the parking lot, which apparently had no security cameras to dispute their claims.

Tedor obviously thought they were lying, though; my question was, if they were, why would they be protecting Debhos? Did they genuinely think of him as their friend and been in on it, or were they afraid of what Debhos would do if they didn't give him an alibi?

 _Or had someone else compelled them to lie so you think you know how deep this goes you don't have a clue_

From what I'd seen and heard about the man, the latter seemed the more likely.

That said, it would probably be beneficial to investigate them to establish what kind of people they were before I drew any conclusions; that would tell me which scenario was the reality.

I took another drink of my coffee and opened my Moleskine notebook to write down their names. Tedor had done a little background on them himself; one of them was part of Debhos' work crew and lived near the Brandts' just one street over. That was Weld.

Abraham Stone, on the other hand, seemed to be much shadier; he had money, but Tedor hadn't been able to establish what he actually did for a living.

But he knew Debhos somehow. They didn't work together on the construction or whatever sites, but they were drinking buddies apparently, and had been seen together in other places around town as well. Stone had even been at Kyle's place once.

That gave me pause: what reason could this man have had for being there? Or why had Debhos invited him there?

It looked like Stone was the guy I really needed to talk to; although, like with Debhos, there wasn't very much more on him. There was a place of birth-Caindar-but no age, no birthday or parents listed.

Fortunately, Tedor had been able to note his current address: 1748 Matheson Street.

I wrote that down as well; I probably should have brought my computer so I could map it or something, but I hadn't foreseen the need so I would have to go back home in order to uncover where it was.

I decided to finish my coffee first, though; I didn't want it to go to waste.

And also, I wanted to avoid home: the reminders of my shooting aside, now there were whispers-whispers of what I had done to my now deceased enemies.

But I couldn't stay away forever. I knew that. I had to face it sooner or later.

Angel was in my kitchen when I got home. I hadn't expected that; I'd thought he'd still be with Louis, looking into those contacts who might be able to tell me more about Debhos.

The fact that he wasn't gave me an immense sense of trepidation. _A sense that what I was seeing was not what I was really getting_

"What happened?"

There was a flash of something indistinct in my friend's eyes and then, he spoke.

"You were dead, Charlie."

The use of my first name threw me. Angel never called me Charlie; to him and his partner, I'd always been Parker-or, at one time 'Bird'.

This wasn't Angel. It wasn't just the unusual form of address that tipped me off; it was the inflection and the slight cultured hint of an accent through my friend's voice that made me certain it wasn't him I was speaking to. It was his face and his body, but it wasn't him.

"You died, and yet here you are," Not-Angel continued cryptically, striding closer. There was a brief pause during which he/it appeared to consider something before adding, "But you know you have been changed. The part of you that died was the part that contained whatever was left of you that was still human; it was a shell that was meant to be broken, and now that it has, there is no telling what will happen."

Another voice joined his, a haunting, sibilant voice that permeated my ears and my mind, impossible to ignore.

"Because you are not human, Charlie Parker. You never have been It is why these entities have been after you since before you were born and why nearly everyone who comes into contact with you has ended up dead or scarred in one way or another. They do not want your power on this Earth; they do not want their master challenged."

I frowned. The rabbi Epstein had said something similar to me a while ago: he had theorized that the reason for my real mother's death and that the supernatural were drawn to and frightened of me were one and the same. I was a beacon for wandering spirits; I was not what I appeared to be. And now this thing, whoever, _what_ ever it was, was telling me that it knew what I was.

But I didn't know whether or not I should believe it.

"What are you talking about? Who are you?" I demanded sharply, trying to sound as if I wasn't deeply unsettled by this; but even a deaf person would have been able to hear the tremble in my voice.

I saw another flicker in Angel's eyes, a brief snapshot of the real entity that had taken up residence in his body, but it was gone an instant later, melting into the false visage like a cheap costume.

"It was no coincidence, the meeting of yourself, the thief Angel, and the killer Louis. The three of you have been bound since the beginning, destined to awaken each other's hidden natures. And now it is time for yours to be revealed, for the deeper you delve into the shadows of your friend's past, the darker your soul will become-until there is nothing left but _him._ "

I must have shown fear at that statement because Not-Angel laid what was probably supposed to be a consoling hand on my shoulder; it was cold, but not as cold as the forbidding tone in which the man completed his declaration.

"Do not fear. You will not become less that what you once were. Quite the contrary; you will become much, much more."

Predictably, that did nothing to assuage my misgivings. It did, however, strike a very strange chord within my memory, and I was reminded once again of hearing a similar sentiment from the mouth of another: Brightwell, the repository of souls, the one who had first thought I was some lost angel who had fallen away when the dark ones were cast out of Heaven.

I'd never even considered the possibility of his belief being true. I had seen evil in many people-I had seen it in myself-but I'd never thought I was anything other than human. The things I was doing now, though, the things I was able to do, they were now making me question.

 _What am I_

Once again, I tried not to dwell on the implications of everything right then. I had more immediate worries-like getting rid of whatever was using Angel's body to deliver its fateful message.

"Are you done?" I asked in a forcefully calm tone, watching the other man without blinking. "I don't know who or what you are, but you've delivered your message. Get out of Angel."

The entity chuckled and bowed its head in a gesture of mocking compliance. "I've said what I needed to. Oh, but with regards to this case of yours: talk to Abraham Stone. He knows what your latest villain is all about and he should be all too happy to tell you everything you want to know."

As he finished, smoke began to pour from Angel's mouth and, with an inhuman scream, his lanky form slumped to the ground, gasping for breath.

I rushed over to him instantly, my consternation turning to genuine worry-although tinged with a hint of wariness.

"Angel?" I exclaimed guardedly, crouching down next to him, but not getting too close in case he was still possessed.

Angel let out a groan, clutching at his head as he lifted it gingerly from the floor, looking around with an uncharacteristically bewildered expression.

"What the fuck? How did I get here?" he groused, struggling to sit up, his mouth twisted in a pained grimace. His syntax and accent were the same again, which hopefully meant he was himself-at least for the time being. "Did you hit me with a hammer and kidnap me or something?"

My mouth twitched involuntarily as I held out a hand to help him to his feet. It shouldn't have been funny, but in some sick, messed up way, it was.

Angel knocked my hand away, though, as if it was poisonous.

"Don't want you touching me after giving me a bruise the size of West Virginia. You might try to break my hand or something," he sniped, instead using the table to pull himself up, brushing off the front of his stained, torn jeans.

I shook my head at him, adopting what I hoped was an innocent expression as Angel prodded at the back of his head, presumably probing at the aforementioned bruise.

"What the fuck did you do to me, Parker?" he demanded acidly.

I raised my hands.

"You fell," I told him evasively. It was the truth-more or less. "I can't be blamed for your clumsiness."

I wasn't sure I should tell him what had really happened. I didn't know that Angel really believed some of the things I'd told him in the past, or even the things he had seen himself. I didn't know if he would believe me if I told him that another being had temporarily taken hold of his body.

Angel shot me a reproachful glare, then proceeded to start rooting through my freezer.

"Well, the least you could do is tell me you have an icepack or something in here. My head is killing me."

"No icepacks, but I think I have some frozen vegetables you could use," I offered, slowly starting to relax as Angel continued to act like his usual self.

He shook his head.

"Fucking barbaric," he commented disparagingly, but he settled for pulling out a bag of frozen peas, sitting down at my table and pressing it to the back of his head.

"Goddamn," he cursed again, eyes screwing up as he winced.

I had to roll my eyes. I was pretty sure he was exaggerating the severity of his injury; yes, he had fallen, but he hadn't hit his head that hard. If it hurt, it was most likely from there having been someone else in it; he probably wasn't used to the extra space being occupied.

"Seriously, what the hell happened? What am I doing here?"

I really didn't know how to explain this one, so, I admit, I chickened out.

"I don't know, but as long as you are, how about giving me a hand with something?" I deliberately avoided the question, asking one of my own.

Angel arched an incredulous eyebrow at me, like he couldn't believe I was asking him for a favour after what-he thought-I'd done.

"Really? I'm over here, dying because of you and you want me to do you a favour?"

"Just back me up tonight on a little field trip. I think I might have a lead on our mystery man, Debhos," I told him, knowing that he was just putting up a fuss. I'd never known him to say no when I really needed him.

I didn't wait for his response before heading into the other room to grab my laptop, so I could apprise myself of any geographical dangers or anything else that might make this trip difficult before plotting our course.

"So, where are we going?" Angel wondered in a feigned grudging manner as I returned, slapping the package of peas down next to my notebook on the table.

I sat down across from him and fire up my computer, opening a mapping application, where I typed in the address Tedor had for Abraham Stone.

The area was a pretty standard residential one, albeit a gated one; a street of almost-mansions, and Abraham's was one of the larger ones. It was in the center of the street, with what I perceived to be a whitestone roof and walls on all sides.

I pursed my lips as I reviewed the satellite pictures. The place was probably rife with security; but that had never stopped me-or my companion-before.

"We're going here," I answered Angel finally, turning the screen around so he could see. "That is, if you're not too incapacitated to figure out how to break in."


	11. Chapter 11

I had to say, Abraham Stone's residence was even more ostentatious in person: even in the wintry dark, the marble gleamed like diamonds as it loomed over me from the top of the incline.

Getting into the area hadn't been as difficult as I'd expected: there'd been security cameras, but no one had seemed to be watching them as we made out approach for there was no alarm and no one came to apprehend us-even though we definitely didn't look like we belonged.

I'd at least made an effort to blend in, donning my most expensive suit and coat and my least offensive pair of shoes, thinking maybe I could pass for a businessman or something and say I was here for some kind of meeting.

Angel, on the other hand, probably didn't have anything in his closet that would allow him to even pretend he was a beggar in this neighbourhood, so he hadn't tried. Not to mention that, judging from his reaction to finding himself in my house earlier, he hadn't prepared for this kind of trip, so he was just in the same clothes he'd been wearing then-with the addition of a dark jacket I'd loaned him. It was about two sizes too big, but at least it wasn't glowing.

We'd set out at about seven-after I'd eaten a quick dinner to keep my stomach from grumbling and distracting me-and taken the shortest route to Caindar that I'd been able to find, arriving in the Matheson Street community about an hour later.

"What's our plan of attack?" Angel asked me from his position at my side, half in the shadows so as to not draw any unwanted attention to our vantage point at the side of the mansion.

I'd worked it out in my head on the drive up here, so I was able to answer right away. "You get me in-quietly-and then be my lookout while I ask the homeowner some questions. Text me if you see anyone coming."

If Angel had any misgivings about my plan of action, he didn't voice them; he simply nodded and began to sneak around to the entrance, so he could get to work.

But he didn't. He just turned the knob and then stared at the door.

"It's already open," I heard him say with obvious bafflement.

I frowned as I stepped forward and discovered that he was right: the door wasn't even locked. It strangely swung inward as soon I touched it.

And no one was watching. There wasn't even a single other resident out walking their dog or anything. That was even stranger.

This was all seeming just a tad too easy.

"Keep a sharp watch," I advised Angel out of the corner of my mouth as he straightened up with a frown to match my own. "Something is definitely not right here."

Angel gave a tilt of his head by way of agreement, then disappeared fully into the shadows to find a better place to keep watch from.

I took a deep breath, then padded carefully inside, every sense peeled for any hint of a trap. But nothing jumped out at me; no alarms rung, no police or guards sprung from the darkness to take me down.

My frown deepened when I reached what looked like an office near the rear of the main level and a sotto voice punctuated the stagnant air, ringing out in my ears.

"Welcome, Detective Parker."

I entered the office, chills running down my spine, chills that had nothing to do with the cold as I came face-to-face with my quarry.

Abraham Stone was white; that what I noticed first. In a sharp contrast to Debhos, his skin was a stark, smooth alabaster. Moreover, as far as I could see, he was completely free of scars.

He was dressed in a much nicer-and stiffer-suit than mine, despite the time of night and reclining in a leather chair behind a varnished walnut desk with his polished shoes propped up on the surface and a cocky smile on his lips.

"I was told to expect you, but I didn't know when," he continued casually, as if we were old friends. He had a drink in his hand and he took a sip from it/ "I must say, I'm surprised you chose now. I thought come at a less obvious time."

I didn't know what he meant by that, how he'd known I would be coming. I had known that something was off with how easy it had been to get in here; now it looked like I was about to find out what.

"I wanted us to have some privacy," I replied, playing along with his game, acting like this situation wasn't making the back of my neck prickle.

Abraham gestured for me to take a seat, but I shook my head. "Who told you to expect me?"

The resident of the house took another drink, then stood up as well.

"Haven't you figured it out yet?" he quipped, arching a light eyebrow in faint surprise, like he couldn't really believe that I didn't know. When I continued to glare at him, he shook his head. "Wow, you really don't know. I thought you'd be a little further along by now to be here."

"Know what?" I pressed insistently, folding my arms over my chest, getting impatient with the vague hints.

Abraham chuckled slyly.

"You're the detective who was killed and came back to life, the one they've been drawing deeper and deeper into their web since the Traveling Man murdered your first wife and child," he said enigmatically, loping forward in a slow, almost taunting manner. "They've been watching you this entire time, manipulating events and people to bring you to this very pivotal moment."

I stepped forward, gaze narrowing.

"How do you know about that?" I demanded suspiciously, my hackles rising even further. I wasn't liking this one bit.

Stone, however, didn't seem to care, or be keen on giving me the answers I wanted; except in the loosest of terms.

" _They_ know everything about you, including that Frank Tedor would reach out to you to aid him in getting Debhos out of the Brandt boy's life. That's why I'm here-not because I'm Debhos' friend: Debhos is a sexual sadist and serial abuser of women, just like his predecessor, Deber. No one in their right minds would be friends with him. I'm just another messenger for you, becuase they knew you were coming. In fact, they were counting on it."

My impatience grew even more, especially with the continued use of the pronoun game.

I personally had never been one to resort to torture; I usually left that to Louis or Angel or one of my other companions. But facing Stone on my own and having him repeatedly _not_ respond clearly to my interrogations, I was having to physically struggle not to go down that road.

Apparently, though, just like when I'd killed the Collector, the choice was out of my hands.

As he opened his mouth, most likely to spout another non-answer, without touching him or my gun, without even moving, what looked to be a bullet wound suddenly blossomed on his left leg.

He crumpled instantly and whatever he had been about to say was cut off by an obviously involuntary cry as he clutched at the edge of his desk.

"Who are _they_?" I asked forcefully, voice going cold and dangerously soft as I descended upon him. "Who is doing this? And why?"

"You didn't have to do that," Abraham said in a strained tone, jaw clenching as blood spread over his pant leg. "They want me to tell you; they want me to prove them right."

He let out another, presumably unwilling cry as another muffled blast rang out in the room and another wound materialized, this time on his upper right arm.

"Tell me, then," I insisted, staring down at him without an ounce of regret or sympathy for the pain I was obviously causing him. I didn't know how I was doing this, but at that moment, I didn't care; exactly as I had in that not-dream with the Collector, I just wanted to make him suffer.

Despite his obvious agony, Abraham gave me another, mocking grin.

"The ones who sent the man called Deber into your dark friend's life all those years ago, the organization behind the one that awakened him, that showed him he was meant to become a killer; they want to create another like him. They want history to repeat itself. They want your friend to become theirs again as well. And most of all, they want you, so they can damn you and everyone around you," he finally explained with what sounded almost like glee, an almost gloating brightness on his white face. "That's why they engineered this whole thing: that is why your friend's mother was killed, and so was the Brandt boy's."

The more he said, the more the sensation of something rising up inside of me began to build. If what he was saying was true, then Deber wasn't really the one responsible for the death of Louis' mother; he'd merely been the weapon used to carry it out. The real culprits were the same force that was now using Debhos now-and they were doing it, all of it, because of me.

I didn't want to believe it: I didn't want to believe that all the terrible things in my friend's past were because of me. I wanted it to be a lie, some kind of scheme concocted to hurt me or some other nefarious purpose.

But that wasn't to be: I saw the reality inside my head and knew it wasn't a lie. _It had all been about getting them to me._

 _The pieces of the puzzle put in place in the years before you were even born a killer and thief created to be yours to be the catalyst for you dark metamorphosis the Reapers created to be your army in the war to come._

 _And now it begins._

As my distress grew, the floor of the mansion began to tremble beneath my feet. It knocked Stone completely off his, but his smile remained firmly in place.

I didn't know what was happening, but I think he did.

The shaking intensified, and the dark marble started to fracture, separating into a million tiny particles, like grains of sand.

A wave suddenly rose up, surrounding Abraham like a cyclone; yet still he didn't stop smiling.

"You can kill me if you want. I said what I was supposed to, and you'll just be playing into their hands," he said as casually as if he were talking about the weather.

That probably should have stopped me, but I was too far gone.

The sand-like grains towered higher, over Abraham's head. Then, they collapsed on top of him, burying him completely and crushing him beneath their weight.

I kept my gaze fixed on the funeral mound, feeling no remorse for what I knew I had done. I couldn't write it off as a dream or insanity this time; I was here, and I knew I was conscious. I had buried Abraham Stone alive underneath his own house.

When the initial incident had passed, what was beginning to seem like relish turned into shock.

How had I done that? How had I killed the Collector, the lawyer and now Stone? What was happening to me?

I knew something had changed in me when I'd come back from that other place, when I'd died after getting shot, but I hadn't been able to put my finger on it. Now I knew my suspicions were not without foundation. I was doing things which were not natural, things I had never witnessed before.

No, that was not true. I hadn't caught hints of in others, in men and women who were infested by supernatural agencies. They had an otherness to them, and I was now catching hints of it in myself.

That force that possessed Angel had been correct. I was not human anymore. I was becoming something…more.

My brows contracted as I went over it all in my mind. I didn't know what to think; I couldn't deal with this. I decided to turn my focus to the matter at hand.

Abraham Stone had said that Deber had been sent into Louis' life, sent to 'awaken' him because he was meant to be a killer, meant to be a part of my life. That meant his childhood had been destroyed because of me, because whoever was behind it was trying to get to me.

I walked away from the body lying in the otherwise pristine study, wondering how that was possible.

How had they known? Louis had been just a boy when Deber had come into his life. How could they have known what slept inside of him when he was just a teenager? Why would they want an innocent child to become a killer? And how would they known it would lead to him meeting Angel-and Angel introducing him to me?

These questions whirled around and around as I made my way off the mansions' grounds, still taking care not to attract attention from the neighbours.

I remembered to signal to Angel on my way out and when he joined, I heard him ask me what had happened.

I should have told him everything right then; I should have been honest with him right away. But I didn't know how to; I didn't even know how to act now I knew all these tangled webs were revolving around me.

I was silent, lost in thought as I got into the more inconspicuous vehicle we had appropriated for tonight as to blend in.

As Angel drove us out of the gates surrounding the community, I continued to spin, to dread: who had wanted Louis to become a Reaper? Who was behind them, manipulating the lives of their recruits to make sure they became the machines they needed?

I feared that, when I discovered the answer, I would unravel this whole thing _and become exactly what they wanted me to be-whatever I was already in the process of becoming_


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Hours after the detective and his companion had departed just before dawn, another uninvited guest entered the home of the now deceased Abraham Stone.

He, like Parker's companion, was not the usual kind of person you would see walking through this neighbourhood. For one thing, he was clearly of Asian descent-and not the rich side.

For another, he was wrapped from head to toe in what was almost a cloak, with a large hood that was pulled low, so it covered nearly half of his face.

He strode through the unlocked door fast and fluid like a wraith, barely making a sound and drawing no attention despite his out of place appearance. He seemed to know the house well, heading straight for the study near the center without pausing.

Moreover, he didn't seem at all surprised when he arrived at his destination and came upon the owner of the house buried underneath what looked like a mound of gray sand; some of it was even trickling out of his parted lips

The hooded man knelt by the body, seeing that Stone's eyes were still frozen open; but there was no shock in them, no fear. Whatever supernatural thing had occurred to kill him, it was like he had expected it.

The man in the cloak reached out and laid his fingers over the corpse's eyes, closing them but not out of respect. The man didn't deserve respect; he had been as much of a monster as the one he served.

But he had served his purpose: he had delivered his message. The detective was on the path now. He had taken the first step, killing Stone the way he had; his powers were coming to the surface.

Soon, he would realize from where his abilities are generated. Soon, they will all realize and reach the point of no return. Their path will lead them to the very depths of the honeycomb world, taking with them every last vestige of light.

They will not return the same.

No one could.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Slumber was not even an option when I returned to Scarborough that night; I wasn't tired. I was far too worked up by the multiple revelations I was being hit with.

I expected them to visit me then, the lost daughter and her mother, the shade of my dead wife; but the whispers that plagued me as I sat in my home were not theirs. Instead, it was the voice I'd heard issuing from Angel's mouth earlier, the one who had put me onto Abraham Stone. The words I heard, though, were not any he/it had spoken previously; they were new ones, and twice as mysterious.

 _You are two steps away from your metamorphosis the draining of your last bit of humanity_

I ruminated on those words and what I had learned from Stone as I reclined on my couch, a rare glass of wine of clutched in my hand. The web was becoming even more tangled-and so was my friend's past. The organization known as the Reapers had been around a lot longer than anyone knew. They didn't seek out their members; they created them.

And even more than that, their creation was rooted deep in the mires of the honeycomb world. They were not merely killers; they were soldiers, part of an army for the Buried God, waiting to serve him at his rise.

Or at least, that was what Stone had said. But I had no reason not to believe him.

I didn't know what to think. I was concerned, knowing that the misfortune of Louis' past had not been bad luck, but orchestration. Deber had not invaded Louis' life by chance; he had been sent. And Debhos was the same; apparently, he was merely a construct of some other shadowy organization-one that controlled the Reapers. They'd wanted to bring Louis into their army, and my guess was they were looking to do the same with Kyle.

And there was that other thing that Stone had said: they weren't done with Louis yet. They still wanted something from him-and Angel.

I knew I had to tell them. I didn't want to, but how could I not? I could be putting him in even worse danger than they'd ever been in before by keeping them in the dark. And, considering our relationship-and my current feelings for them-it was the right thing to do.

I inhaled deeply, debating what to do. I had been in a lot of difficult situations before, but never like this. Even when the case had been personal, like when I'd investigated why my father had killed those two teenagers before turning his gun on himself, I had never been this torn about what action to take. But now this case was becoming about my closest friends and I had to make a decision. I was in too deep to drop it now.

I took another deep breath. I knew it was late, but if I was going to tell Louis and Angel, I wanted to do it now, before I lost my nerve. So, I steeled myself and punched in Louis' number on my cell.

I was expecting to get him, but Angel was the one who answered. I guess Louis still hadn't gotten over his hang-up about cellphones being instruments of the Devil.

" _What kind of time do you call this?"_ Angel's voice crackled through the speaker, sounding more than a little annoyed and a tad confused. " _I hope this means you're finally going to tell me what happened tonight._ "

I didn't tell him; I wanted to tell Louis first. Usually, I would have made some kind of joke before getting Angel to put him on, but I wasn't feeling it tonight.

"I will; but put me Louis on first. I need to talk to him," I said without preamble, my fingers curling uneasily over the couch's armrest.

I could tell without being able to see him that Angel was frowning at my abrupt response; but he gave his partner the phone anyway.

" _What?_ " Louis queried when he came on the line, his tone carefully neutral like he was forcing it to sound that way.

I wanted to start out with something to soften the blow, to cushion the life-shattering news I was about to deliver; but I couldn't think of anything. There really was nothing that could make this less rocking, so I just came straight out with it.

"Did Angel tell you where we went tonight?" I asked him delicately, taking another drink while I waited for him to answer.

" _He said you went after one of that man's associates. Did he give you some answers?"_

I paused, tongue coming out to wet my lips.

"It was a set up, Louis," I told him flatly, not bothering to sugarcoat it. "The guy Angel and I went to talk to said this case was all a set up. And so was what happened to you. Someone wanted you to become a Reaper, so they sent Deber into your life to push you into killing him-and they're trying to use Debhos to do the same to this other kid."

A stony silence followed my pronouncement. I understood. I had just dropped a major bomb on my friend and was aware that he might need a few minutes to process.

I was a bit startled, then, when Angel's voice rang out in my ear again.

" _Damn it, Parker, what did you say to him? He looks like someone just told him Santa Claus wasn't real or something,_ " Angel demanded, sounding shocked, but also genuinely concerned, probably because Louis hardly ever showed as much emotion as he described.

I pressed my lips together. I'd told Louis already, so there was no reason for me not to tell Angel. I gave him a condensed version: "Stone said that the case was a set up, Angel. It was planned, so that the Reapers could turn Kyle into one of them-and to lure Louis into being one of them again. The people who engineered it are behind the Reapers: they sent Deber to kill Louis' mother and drive him to become a killer."

I heard Angel give a sharp intake of breath. He was usually the more emotional of the two of them, but even so, I didn't think I'd ever heard so much shock contained in a single breath. That was pretty much the reaction I'd expected, though; I knew this rocked the very foundations of his partner's existence-as well as their relationship.

"And you think he was telling the truth?" he questioned shrewdly after a weighty silence. I expected that, too; we all knew better than to take claims like that at face value.

I hesitated, though; I didn't know how to tell him how I knew that Stone wasn't lying about this, how it had all connected in my head for me in another vision. I didn't know if that would be enough for either of them, even with what they knew about me, about what had happened to me, and about how I had killed the Collector

The answer came to me in the same way, and my mouth moved without my instruction. "I've been checking everything Stone said to me since I got home, and it lines up. I'm sure you noticed that the two men, Debhos and Deber, have extremely similar names? Well, that's not the only thing that's similar about them. They are, in essence, the same person; they even work for the same company-one that really only exists as a name on a piece of paper."

" _Shit,_ " Angel cursed mutinously; I heard the anger in his voice and knew it was covering the anguish he had to be feeling on behalf of his partner. I didn't want to have to tell him this, either of them, but they needed to know the truth. And there was that dark selfish part of me that didn't want to have to handle this alone, that wanted Angel and Louis by my side while I attempted to puzzle this out.

But I knew what this was going to do to Louis; he hated being manipulated more than anything. I couldn't blame him for that-I imagine most people would feel the same.

Finding out his whole life, becoming what he was had been because of someone else's machinations was definitely going to piss him off, and there was no telling what it would drive him to do.

"You have no idea what this will do to him. I mean, it was one thing when someone came at you and we got caught in the crossfire, but after that shit with Bliss, and then Jackie," Static crackled through the speaker as he let out a hiss through his teeth. "I can't even tell how he's going to handle it. He _likes_ it when it's personal: if someone wants him to be an assassin again, he's going to be worse. And this time, if he goes down that road, I don't think either of us are going to be able to drag him back."

I felt awful. Angel was actually scared-and it was my fault. According to Stone, it was _all_ my fault; everything was because of me, because of what this faceless, mysterious organization wanted from me.

My chest clenched: I really was a terrible friend-especially since I didn't tell them any of that.

"I'm sorry," I apologized quietly. "I didn't think any of this would happen; I recognized the echo of Louis' past in what was happening to Kyle, but I never imagined it would turn out to be an elaborate trap for him."

There was another pause, and I heard Angel give another sigh.

"It isn't your fault, man," he said in an only slightly less uneasy tone. "If these people really are the ones who sent Deber into Louis' life, then they've been planning this for a long time before you came into the picture; they would have found a way without you. And if Louis had found out on his own, he wouldn't have told anyone. He would have gone after them on his own. At least, this way we can keep him from doing something stupid like that; maybe we can even come up with an actual plan of our own."

My lips rolled under in a frown. I knew he was just trying to make me feel better, but it was doing the complete opposite. He didn't know that everything had been orchestrated purely to get us together, to get to me. Now all I could do was try to make sure my friends didn't play into _their_ -whoever they were-hands or get themselves killed.

"What's Louis doing?" I wondered, allowing my concern to seep through: what had Louis been doing while Angel and I had been talking?

There was a faint rustle in the background as Angel presumably went to go check on his partner, maybe to see if he was in a suitable state to contribute to the conversation.

The next voice I heard was his, sounding as if he were having to exercise an extreme effort to remain calm.

 _"Who did this to me?"_

"I don't know," I admitted helplessly; but I wasn't being completely honest. I didn't admit that I had a pretty good idea of who could be behind this, of who was behind everything.

I'd gotten a hint when that other entity had taken over Angel this afternoon: an entity speaking from within a body not its own, most likely in service to another controlling influence-sounded almost exactly like one of the Believers.

And I knew who they served-or thought they served. But I didn't know if I was ready to tell Louis yet-so I didn't.

"All I know is that they created this case so that I would draw you back into their world. Whoever they are, they knew I wouldn't be able to resist taking it, or asking for your help." I let out a sigh of my own. "If you want to get out now, before things go any further, I'll understand. No hard feelings."

It was faint, but I thought I heard Angel scoff in the background. " _Yeah, like he'd be able to let it go now._ "

There was a sound like something being thrown across a room; then Louis spoke again.

"No," he said, and there was a wellspring of cold and dark contained within that single syllable. "I'm going to find out who these people are and I'm going to make them regret ever messing with me."

Before I could say anything else-not that I knew what to say, whether to stop him or to encourage him-Louis hung up.

I dropped the phone and finished off my glass of wine with a slightly frustrated breath. I hadn't known what would happen when I revealed to Louis what I had found out, but I'd known it wasn't going to be good. And I'd been right.

Louis and Angel were two of the most dangerous men I had ever met and they were now onto whatever force was pulling the strings here-and when they discovered their identity…it wasn't going to end well for anyone.

 _God help anyone who went up against them now_

 _God help us all_


	14. Chapter 14

Louis felt the shift in the threads that surrounded the three of them when Parker told him what he'd discovered from Debhos' _friend_ , and he knew what it meant when they tangled and frayed-and darkened to the colour of ink. It meant that, just like always when the private detective was involved, things were about to get complicated.

He'd long kept it a secret, the things he could see that no one else could-beyond the veil. He'd told Parker about his grandmother once, but not about him; he'd never even told Angel.

But now something told him that his abilities played a part in this; for all he knew, it could be the entire reason why this faceless organization was after him.

He left once Angel had finally drifted off a little after dawn, sending a message to the contact he'd called about Debhos the same night Parker had asked for his help in finding out more about him. It had been about two days since then and this wasn't how these things usually went, but he couldn't wait any longer. If any of what he'd just heard was true, then he needed to discover their identity before they tried something worse to get what they wanted from him.

Since the place he usually conducted these meetings was in New York, he'd had to find somewhere else. Luckily, he was part-owner in more than one business in Portland-not that anyone knew-and one of them happened to be quite easy to access.

He was able to slip into the open restaurant without a key; all he'd needed was the code for the alarm, which he'd also given to his contact with the intention of changing it after.

The contact entered just after he did, removing his gloves and shutting the door behind him.

"The one who got away."

Louis unzipped his jacket, dark-skinned features impassive as he recognized that indiscernible accent.

"Debhos," he said without preamble while the other man grabbed a bottle of something expensive and a glass from behind the bar and then seated himself in one of the booths nearby. "Was he one of you?"

"You mean _us_?" his companion retorted smoothly. He poured his drink. "What makes you think we would tell you if he was?"

Louis' upper lip curled in almost a snarl.

" _Because you know what I can do to you if you don't_. Because you it's too early for either of us to be getting blood on our clothes."

The contact took a sip of his Scotch, an indulgent smile curving his lips.

"Luckily for both of our clothes, then, that I am supposed to tell you." He tipped his head forward. "Debhos isn't a Reaper, but he does belong to an organization run by the same controlling influence as the Reapers."

Louis' heart-uncharacteristically-skipped a beat; there was someone else controlling the Reapers? That had never even crossed his mind. Gabriel had always made it seem like he had founded them and was the only boss they'd ever had.

He took a single, measured step forward.

"Who are they?"

"Why don't you ask your friend, the private detective? After all, he's going to start searching for them soon enough as well."

Louis didn't know why he was surprised; he had a feeling Parker would be at the center of this. It had been him who'd informed him of this, after all: he seemed to always be at the crux of everything.

That said, that wasn't the answered he'd been hoping for. Unfortunately, since the contact was now standing back up to leave again, it looked like that was the only answer he was going to get-at least, from him.

Apparently, Parker knew more than he'd said-possibly even more than he'd been told by that Abraham Stone guy. If Louis had learned anything since befriending the detective, it was that there was almost always more than what could be seen on the surface. And right now, he was willing to dig however deep he needed to know what he was dealing with.

 _And whoever was hiding at the middle of it would meet the same fate as their pet Deber. Louis had no mercy in him for those that threatened or hurt the few people he cared for or who thought they could manipulate him._

 _No one was going to stop him from finding a target for the justice he was now fervently craving-the vengeance for what had been done to his family in the name of making him a Reaper._

As he climbed into his black Lexus and drove back to the apartment to pick up Angel before heading to Parker, he felt another shift in the threads deep in his bones and he knew: this was only the calm before the storm.

 _He was the storm_

Angel wasn't sure when he'd fallen asleep, but when he awoke, it was late morning already and his partner's side of the bed was empty. In fact, it looked as though it had been empty the whole night.

Moreover, when he got up and ventured into the kitchen, he discovered that Louis was nowhere else in their apartment, either.

He let out a soft, uncharacteristically distressed breath, dropping himself gracelessly into one of the chairs around their kitchen table and resting his chin in his palm. He had a feeling he knew where Louis had gone; after what they'd learned the previous night, he needed more specific answers about this mysterious organization that had turned him into a killer all those years ago.

Angel couldn't be angry with him for that; he wanted those answers, too.

And he most definitely wouldn't want to be bugged by Angel while he was getting them, so he reined in the urge to call him and ask what he had discovered.

His bottom lip caught between his teeth and he tapped his fingers restlessly on the surface of the table while he waited. Before meeting Charlie Parker, his life had never been so complicated before; granted, it hadn't been all that fantastic, either, but, for all he knew, that could have been a part of the set up as well.

Unable to sit still, he got up again and went to go put on a cup of coffee, mostly just to have something to do with his hands; but also because he thought Louis might want some when he returned.

There was tension in every part of his body as he poured the coffee grounds into the filter and placed them in the machine before switching it on; even as he was doing that, he couldn't stop his thoughts from spiraling, spinning wild theories about what the purpose of all of this could be.

Why would anyone want to tamper in the life of a previously innocent black boy? Who would want to drive some random child into becoming an assassin?

 _It was never random nothing is random everything is happening for a reason_

The question rang in his ears, causing his skin to prickle and his fingers to tremble. What if it wasn't random? They wouldn't have sent Deber into Louis' life if he had really been a nobody, if he was really as innocent as he had once seemed. That wouldn't make any sense.

Angel didn't believe in destiny, but this had to be someone _thinking_ it was destiny, arranging matters because of some bizarre conception that it was meant to be.

And that raised another question: who was doing it?

It was nearly an hour later when Louis came home, looking-well, Angel couldn't exactly read his expression, but it was not a happy one. Clearly, whatever he had learned hadn't been good.

Angel didn't broach the topic right away, though; when Louis walked in, he just brought him a cup of coffee, wordlessly holding it out to him as he came in the kitchen.

Louis took it, also without speaking, bringing it into the living room and sitting down on the leather sofa. Angel followed him, sitting down at his side and waiting, heart pounding, for the dam to break.

"That guy was telling the truth," his partner finally revealed, his voice utterly devoid of emotion. "Debhos isn't a Reaper, but he is a pawn, a construct of the ones who control them, sent to be killed to create a Reaper-just like Deber." _There is another entity behind the Reapers. There always has been._

 _And they have always been after us_

Angel stopped as the underlying meaning of those words hit him. The Reapers, or at least, the ones in charge of them really had ripped apart Louis' life on purpose, and now they were attempting to do the same to another boy.

"Your friend just came out and told you that? That the Reapers were just slaves to some other organization's agenda and so are these other guy's?" he quipped sceptically, arching an eyebrow.

Louis rolled his lips under and Angel saw his partner's hands clench around the handle of his cup.

"He said it like he wanted me to know; he said that he was _supposed_ to tell me about Debhos." He paused, swallowing. "And he said that Parker knew who they were, that he would be searching for them."

Angel's dubious expression morphed into a fully-fledged frown. Of course, it all came back to Parker.

He put his mug down.

"Then I guess I know where we're going."

Louis returned his look, giving the slightest tilt of his chin and confirming Angel's assumption. So, he set his mug down as well.


	15. Chapter 15

I returned to Caindar once again, this time with intention of talking to Debhos, no matter the risk. Things were getting crazier by the second and I needed to get to the bottom of it before it got even worse.

I went to see Tedor first to give him back the file he'd loaned me-I'd made copies shortly after returning from the Bear the previous day-but when I asked to see him, the receptionist got a look on her face like someone had died.

As it turned out, someone had.

"Officer Tedor passed a few days ago," she informed me somberly, the corners of her mouth turned down in affected sadness.

I stopped, brows contracting as I dropped the folder on top of the desk, digesting that news. It wasn't like this was the first time that the person who'd hired me for a case had died; but this one was different.

"Can I ask what happened?" I questioned politely, taking care to sound apologetic. I was, but I was much more suspicious; given the circumstances, whatever she was going to say happened, there was probably more to it than what she knew.

The receptionist-Lise Wylie, I read off her nameplate so I wouldn't just keep referring to her by her job title-didn't respond right away, appearing to need a moment to gather herself. But, as I watched her, I thought her grief seemed a touch exaggerated, like maybe she was feigning it for some reason.

"The official line is that he took his own life." I sensed the lie before she'd even finished speaking; it sounded rehearsed, like she'd practiced it in the mirror and I knew:something else had caused Frank Tedor's death.

And, just like with most aspects of this case, I had a terrible feeling I knew what-or rather who-it had been.

"I'm sorry," I played along, expressing my condolences so she wouldn't suspect that I was onto her. "Do you know who took over his open cases?"

Lise looked at me like she didn't understand what I was saying.

"Officer Tedor had no open cases."

My frown deepened.

"What about the Natalie Brandt murder? He and I were working on it together."

The receptionist turned her attention to her computer, typing something into, I assumed, some kind of search engine and chewing on her lower lip as she scanned the results that came up on the screen.

"That case has been transferred to another police department," she told me flatly. "All of the files are being delivered, so we have nothing more to do with it."

That set all my alarms ringing. Why would a different police force be getting that case? It had happened here and, according to Tedor, he'd known the Brandt family personally. Another officer wouldn't have the same connection; they wouldn't have the same inclination to bring Debhos in. And they most likely wouldn't want me looking over their shoulder since they hadn't hired me.

Moreover, I wasn't sure what, or if I even should tell the new detective on the case about what was really going on here; I hadn't thought I should tell Tedor-I had killed someone involved with it-and I was even less sure of telling some new person I hadn't met yet.

"Do you know if any of the files are still here?" I queried.

Lise shook her head.

"There was only one box, and it was moved out of here earlier this morning."

Damn, I cursed inwardly, balling my free hand into a fist. Not that I really needed Tedor's help anymore, but maybe his remaining files could help me figure out what the connection between Kyle and Louis was. If the people who had sent Debhos were who I thought they were, why had they chosen Kyle to get to me? What was it about him that made him fit to follow in Louis' bloody footsteps?

And why was Lise Wylie looking at me like this was exactly what she'd been expecting to happen?

"Thank you, you've been very…helpful," I said at last, affecting politeness again; helpful wasn't really the word I wanted to use, but I didn't want to let on that I was seeing through her act.

Even more alarm bells were ringing in my head as I picked up my file and left the police station, filled with questions and what Stone had told me.

He'd said that this case was all a set up. Did that mean that Tedor's death(murder) was a part of it? Wasn't I supposed to apprehend Debhos for him?

 _Or was I supposed to kill him like I had killed Stone and the Collector_

Once again, the words of that entity that had taken over Angel reverberated within my ear _the deeper you venture into the shadows of this case the darker your soul will become until there is nothing left but him_

I still didn't know what that meant, what the purpose of drawing _me_ into this was. I'd figured part of it was because I would bring in Louis, but there had to be more: this was apparently all about me.

But why?

The only question I didn't have was where I would find Debhos. I'd been pretty certain he would be at the Brandt house, but, as I got into my car, I suddenly knew without a doubt that that was actually not the truth. I got a glimpse of what appeared to be the former site of some kind of building that was now in the process of being torn down and, without any conscious instruction, I began heading there immediately because somehow I knew that was where my prey was.

 _This Parker was a hunter and much much more_

It didn't take very long for me to arrive there: it was like an invisible force was driving, accelerating my vehicle in a way that didn't affect the outside world at all so I reached my destination in just a couple of minutes.

As I stepped onto the lot and began making a beeline for a figure that was obviously the one in charge, I became aware of two presences joining me, like shadows falling over me. I was pretty certain I knew who they were, though, so I didn't react; they weren't enemies and they wouldn't interfere, so I kept on striding forward until I reached the man who was running the show.

Debhos.

He was even more monstrous up close: the vicious scars on his face stood out stark again his bony, charcoal-like visage and his eyes were shady, beady slits. As I looked at him, I was once again baffled as to why any woman would even go near him. There had to have been something more sinister behind Natalie Brandt hooking up with him, a manipulation like everything else that was going on here.

I was going to find out what.

Debhos seemed to know I was there before I announced my presence and the corners of his mouth turned up in a sneer.

"Mr. Parker, you finally decided to introduce yourself to my face." His voice was grating, and almost unnaturally high-pitched, like nails on a chalkboard.

And his eyes-his eyes shone with an almost savage excitement as they fell on the two others behind me.

"And you brought your _special_ friends; even better."

I stopped in my tracks.

Obviously, Debhos knew who I was; that wasn't really a surprise. What was was that he also knew who Louis and Angel were and had an idea of our relationship. That gave me pause, made me rethink how I should handle this: charging in and making demands and threats wouldn't work, I didn't think.

"Well, you obviously know who we are," I voiced my thoughts by way of a return greeting, stepping forward to square off against him. "Why don't you tell us who you really are-and why you killed Natalie Brandt?"

Debhos laughed mercilessly, and the sound set my teeth on edge.

"It was nothing against her personally: my superiors wanted to make the boy theirs and they wanted me to get him the same way they got your dark companion there."

I couldn't stop myself from also side-eyeing Louis as Debhos' narrow slits flicked toward him, probably hoping to get a rise. I saw his nostrils flare slightly; but that was all.

I turned back.

"And who are these 'superiors' of yours?" I pressed, crossing my arms. I didn't appreciate his not-so-subtle dig at my friend, nor did I feel very comfortable about the fact that he knew so much about him-and us. Who was giving him his information? I couldn't rest until I had that answer.

The malicious amusement on Debhos' scarred face increased as his eyes slowly drifted back to me.

"You know already. You've been searching for them-us-for a long time, haven't you?"

My mouth went dry as I realized he was right. I knew who he was talking about; I had suspected all along and now it was being confirmed. I knew who was doing this.

They called themselves the Backers: a group of individuals who had attained positions of considerable wealth, power and influence, partially through their own energy and acuity, but mostly by aligning themselves with forces older and more arcane than any religion. In doing so, they had damned themselves-and now, apparently, wanted to damn everyone else it turned.

And now it seemed they were setting their sights on me and those I cared for.

I hadn't told Louis or Angel or anyone about my investigation into them; it was a subject I had put only the most untraceable bit of effort into, an inquiry that I'd pursued in between cases, on and off, ever since I'd gotten that list from the wreckage of that airplane up in the Maine North Woods. I'd smelled their hand in a lot of matters since then, and I now knew for a fact that they were all over this case. They were the ones who were after Louis, wanting to make him a Reaper again.

But there was still one thing I didn't get.

"Why?" I repeated my first question with even more vehemence, voice uncharacteristically soft and deceptively calm. My hand strayed almost subconsciously toward my gun; I'd said I wanted to avoid violence, but, at that moment, I was willing to do whatever it took to get to the bottom of this.

Ironically, Angel held me back when I started to advance, so I was caught in place while Debhos laughed again, his smile becoming a rictus of cruelty.

"Like I said, it's even better that your partners are here for this; they're supposed to know, too, after all," he sneered in an oily tone, lips pulling back as he elaborated.

"It was for you, _detective_ ; you're the one they really want. They want your pals here to help prove what they have always thought of you. You are who they've been waiting for."

Those last words acted like an ignition. Black flames encroached on my vision and I reeled.

 _No_. He couldn't mean what I thought he meant; that could not be the reason for all of this.

 _But what other explanation could there be for what had been happening? The way I'd killed the Collector, Eldritch and Stone; no normal human could perform those acts-and not feel remorse over them_

 _Could this really be the explanation for everything  
_

That same sensation I'd gotten right before I'd killed Abraham Stone, that roaring in my ears and that raging in my veins was filling me up again.

But then it was broken by the feeling of a hand clamping down on my shoulder.

"Parker," Angel's distinctive voice cut through the building tornado in my ears, jolting me out of my haze and back to the present. "What is he talking about?"

I took a deep breath, attempting to calm myself and keep whatever was rushing through me from breaking free. I didn't want to explain with Debhos listening in.

Debhos took care of that for me.

"So, he's kept it a secret from you two? Well, I guess my bosses were wrong; he _doesn't_ trust you more than anyone else," he actually sounded somewhat startled by that discovery, like he thought I would have told them the truth already.

Then, he did it himself.

"That list you all found in that downed airplane in the woods, they were the ones who wrote it. They are behind every foray into the supernatural you have experienced; it was all constructed to lure you into their world. They want you three together on the throne-and what the Backers want, the Backers get."

Something in me snapped at the actual mention of their name and I advanced on Debhos, that rushing growing louder in my ears again; I wanted to tear him apart right then and there-but once again, I was stopped.

"Hey, I thought you were going all peacekeeper on this case," Angel piped up, dragging me back forcefully.

Funny. I'd been thinking the same thing just a moment ago.

"That was foolish of me," I heard myself say, my mouth moving without any conscious instruction. But I wasn't as removed from it as I had been before: this time, there wasn't as much of a disconnect, no feeling of someone else controlling my body. I was more present, more willing to allow this to occur.

There was something else I hadn't experienced before, too: a tingling at my fingertips, a sharpness like something was trying to push its way out of my skin. And oddly, it was like the only thing that kept it from getting out was Angel's touch on my arm.

"Okay, we're not doing this here." His voice once again somehow penetrated the fog in my brain. "There are witnesses and it's not the time. We're walking away," he intoned. He cast a pointed glance over at his partner, and repeated more forcefully, "We're _all_ walking away."

It struck me that, not once during this entire confrontation had Louis said a word-nor had I looked his way to see what his reaction was.

I didn't really know if I wanted to.

"Let's go," Angel commanded again, tugging both me and Louis away from Debhos, who was still grinning, obviously relishing being the one to tell my friends the one thing I'd never told them myself.

I let myself be pulled off the lot; so did Louis. We let Angel pull us back, just as he usually did.

This wasn't the time for us to take Debhos down; I was going to have to explain what he'd told them. I knew I had to tell them what I hadn't before.

That didn't mean I was looking forward to it, though.


	16. Chapter 16

I followed Louis and Angel back to their apartment in Portland's upper west side; they'd rented it to be close to me while I was in the hospital, but had told me they were thinking of staying even once I was out. They'd said it was because they'd grown fond of the city, but secretly-or maybe hopefully-I'd thought there might be another motive, one that was still about me.

Maybe that was a bit presumptuous; but, given what we had just learned, maybe not.

That matter was why we had left to come back here: they wanted to know about what Debhos had said, about how central my role in all of this was.

I wasn't too keen on telling them: I didn't want to know what would happen to our relationship when they realized everything that had happened to them was so they would meet and befriend me. Unfortunately, I couldn't tell them nothing, either; they wouldn't be satisfied with that and they didn't deserve it.

Louis faced me from one of the armchairs in their living room, ebony visage utterly inscrutable-and that was more terrifying than if he was glaring at me. I didn't know if I had anything to fear from him; I'd never thought I did, but he'd just found out that I was the reason his life as a child had been turned upside down.

After a long, unsettling pause, he finally spoke.

"You weren't surprised by any of that: you'd heard what that man said before."

I sighed tensely, hands clenching at my sides. I knew I couldn't hide this from him; I had to admit what I knew.

"I did," I said honestly, exhaling and forcing myself to meet his eyes as I explained. "Debhos' friend said the same thing when Angel and I went to talk to him last night: he told me this was all a set up-and that was when I told you."

Louis' gaze narrowed faintly.

"But not everything," he pointed out, tone unreadable. "Debhos said it was about you; so did my contact that I spoke to this morning. He said you knew who was behind this. Why didn't you tell us that before?"

I lifted my shoulders in a shrug.

"I didn't want you to hate me, either of you."

Louis unfolded his arms, lowering them on either side of him.

"You assumed we would."

"Why wouldn't you?" I countered. "I was the reason your mother was killed, your aunt was abused and you were turned into a Reaper; that was all because of me." And that wasn't even getting into what had happened to Angel.

I expected all sorts of responses from Louis; but none of them were what I got. He rose from his chair and strode over to where I was standing uncomfortably by the wall.

"If that's what you thought would happen, why did you tell us any of it? Why did you bring us into this case?"

I inhaled deeply a second time. We had finally come to it; I knew eventually I would have to confess my ulterior motives, but I was not prepared.

Then again, if I had waited until I was prepared, I never would have told them.

"Because I wanted you with me; because, ever since I was shot, I've noticed significant changes in myself. And not just physical ones," I paused, licking my lips before finishing. "I don't feel the same way about certain people as I used to-and those feelings are the reason why, despite the risks to our relationship and lives, I wanted you near me during this case."

Louis moved again, quick like a wraith, invading my personal space and looming over me, his eyes boring holes into mine.

"If you what I think you going to say…" he let his sentence hang, both a warning and a promise, his breath fanning out over my face and causing it to flush.

I saw his gaze on my throat as I swallowed and it flexed, and when I looked back up into it, it was like he was peeling me apart, seeing straight down into my core.

I would be lying if I said I wasn't unnerved, but I was also kind of…aroused. Louis had never looked at me like that before, and it made it even more difficult for me to focus on putting my feelings into plainer words _when all I wanted to do was act on them_

Luckily, Louis saved me the trouble by doing exactly that: he closed the remaining distance between us and pressed his mouth to mine.

I didn't know how to react for a moment; I had dreamed about this so many times in the last few weeks, but I'd never thought it would actually happen. Now that it was, I didn't know what to do.

Gradually, though, I began to come to grips with it, with the fact that I was finally getting what I'd wanted, and I kissed him back enthusiastically. I curled my fingers in the front of his coat and tugged him closer until our chests were touching and I could almost feel his heartbeat syncing up with mine.

I felt Louis' surprise at my actions; he'd started this, but he obviously hadn't expected me to reciprocate. I didn't blame him; I was quite surprised myself.

Instead of making me want to stop, however, that spurred me on even more and I opened my mouth under Louis', giving him an open invitation.

Just like I hadn't expected him to kiss me first, I didn't expect him to let things go any further; but once again, I was proven wrong. He accepted the invitation, slipping his tongue inside and delving deep into my mouth almost hungrily, like he'd been starving for it all along.

I moaned, my other hand going to the back of his neck to drag him down further and tongue rising to meet his, to mimic him.

Of course, that was right about the time that Angel decided to come out of the bathroom.

"What the fuck did I just walk in on?" I heard him exclaim through the haze of lust.

Louis and I broke apart; but Louis didn't move away from me. He remained in place, resting a hand on my back and half-turning his head to look at his partner.

"We finally turned Parker," he commented, deceptively casually, a faint quirk forming at the corner of his slick mouth and an unidentifiable gleam in his dark eyes.

Angel's stare shifted to me and I met it evenly, with no trace of guilt. My feelings didn't just extend to Louis, after all.

Seeing the confusion on his face as he processed Louis' statement, I decided to clear things up for him; emboldened by Louis' actions, I drew Angel in and crushed my lips to his as well.

Neither of them was like kissing Rachel or Susan or any other woman. Angel was a bit lankier than his partner, and a lot shorter. He was solid; all hard lines and stubble scratching against my cheek. There was hardly any softness; it probably shouldn't have felt good-but it did. And I wanted more.

Angel, though, froze the second our lips touched; I didn't know what he was feeling, but it was most likely shock.

 _He'd be lying if he said he'd never thought about it, what it would be like to be with Parker in this way the bonds between them had bypassed friendship long ago but there had been no physical side before now Parker had never shown a desire for the company of other men._

 _Now he was however and Angel wasn't entirely sure how to handle it_

Slowly, though, he seemed to get it into it and he started to respond, mouth moving against mine and hands flattening on my front to push me back against his partner.

I felt Louis' arm coil around my waist and I groaned at the combined sensations of his breath on my neck and Angel's tongue sweeping tentatively against my own. I didn't think I'd ever get to experience this; I didn't think either of them would ever actually want me this way.

For once, I was happy to be wrong.

My breath caught in my throat when Louis' hand snuck underneath the hem of my shirt, and I arched into it, tilting my head away from Angel so I could catch his lips again, while Angel's trailed down my jawline, teeth sinking into the curve.

"Ungh," I groaned again into Louis' mouth, nails digging into the shorter's shoulders.

I heard Angel let out an unfamiliar husky chuckle, the sound vibrating against my throat as his teeth traveled lower.

"Didn't think you'd be into this, Parker," he murmured throatily and with a tinge of almost salacious amusement, speaking into my collarbone now, his breath raising goosebumps on the skin there.

I exhaled sharply, attention split between his words and Louis' fingers as they ran along my ribcage, causing me to harden against Angel's thigh as it pressed between both of mine, so it was hard to focus on what he was saying. But somehow I managed to formulate a reply.

"I think I always wanted this; apparently, it just took coming back from the dead for me to admit it."

My breath stuttered slightly on the last word, when Louis found a sensitive spot on my chest and scraped his nails over it, leaving fire in their wake.

Angel smiled as I tugged on the tail of his shirt, consenting to my silent request with a mix of lust and amusement in his eyes.

"Well, then, I guess something good came of it. Far be it for us to disappoint," he commented, shedding his shirt as his partner extended his free hand around me and grabbed him so their mouths could meet as well.

I leaned my head back, my arousal increasing at that sight. If I thought kissing them was hot, seeing them kiss in front of me was just as, if not more so. I'd always assumed they must have at least patted each other on the head occasionally in their seven years of being together, but actually witnessing it was something else entirely.

I wasn't sure exactly what I wanted to do, having-obviously-never been with another man before, let alone two, so I went on instinct. I lowered my mouth to Angel's now bared shoulder, sucking at the junction between it and his neck experimentally.

I heard him let out a moan of his own, the sound muffled as Louis deepened their kiss. They didn't leave me out anymore, Louis gripping the flaps of my coat and sliding it off my shoulders.

I lifted my arms forward, allowing it to fall off while I continued following my urge, kissing my way across the top of Angel's chest, surprisingly enjoying the unfamiliar scratch of the short hairs there against my lips; that was not something I thought I'd like.

" _Charlie_ ," he hissed my name, and I felt his fingers dig into my side. This time, I knew it was him speaking; his voice was low and ragged with what I could only assume was pleasure, but it was unmistakably him and a thrill went through me. I'd made him sound like that.

Encouraged, I ducked lower and, once again on impulse, ran my tongue over one of his scars, hardening even more at the sound of another moan from above me.

He tugged me back up by my hair, then, breaking from his partner to claim my mouth again while simultaneously beginning to unbutton my dark shirt.

My hands joined his and I sucked his tongue inside while we divested me of my shirt as well, clutching at Louis at the same time.

When he dragged his tongue down to my neck, I reworked our positions so I could pull Louis' head toward mine, crashing our lips together for a second time and shoving at his leather jacket.

He shrugged it off at my touch, shucking his top a second later without being prompted, then reaching around me again for the buckle of Angel's belt.

I grunted as nails raked lightly over the front of my torso and I returned the favour, hands roaming Louis' abdomen, feeling the corded muscles there ripple underneath my palm.

As I did so, I took a moment to examine both of them. They were a study in contrast, Angel short and wiry, Louis broad and chiseled and the feeling of being trapped between the two of them, two pairs of hands touching me, it was even better than I would have imagined. I wanted it to go further-if they'd let it.

Like they were reading my mind, Louis' fingers curled around my hips, Angel's entwining with his, before his mouth pulled back momentarily so he could speak.

"I think this might be a little better somewhere more comfortable," he suggested huskily, breath hot against my face.

I felt Angel grin into my cheek and I allowed them to maneuver me toward their bedroom, feeling a rush of nervous excitement.

They pushed me roughly onto the bed as soon as we entered; I didn't fight, instead pulling them with me, tugging on Louis' belt so I could remove it.

He helped, working the length of leather through the loops easily and discarding it before stepping out of his designer jeans, then starting on my own non-designer ones.

I lifted my hips to accommodate him and, when Angel took my boxers with them, I let him, leaving me completely naked beneath them.

Things came to a brief halt as my two companions sat back on their heels, observing through twin lidded eyes.

I wondered what they were thinking; I had scars-I possibly _had_ had more than both of them-but some of them had faded since my shooting. Odd, I knew; injuries didn't normally vanish _after_ a new one had been inflicted.

Considering, I didn't think I looked that bad; I had gotten two women to live with me, and one to marry me, after all.

They seemed to agree because both their gazes darkened with what I perceived to be steadily growing lust.

Louis' eye caught on my rather prominent erection, and a smirk the likes of which I'd only seen him don when someone was about to get hurt tugged at his slightly reddened mouth.

"Pretty impressive, man," he commented in an uncharacteristic purr, exploring mine and Angel's bodies with renewed intent, divesting himself of the last bit of his clothes as well so I felt his bare flesh press to mine.

It sent waves of heat washing over me and I bucked my hips, attempting to get more of that delicious friction.

I finished disrobing him, too; he allowed it, but then pinned me in place, mouth ghosting over mine before he pushed Angel and I towards each other.

Angel consented, surging forward with me and capturing my lips. My leg hooked over Louis as I reciprocated, clutching at him and Louis to keep them both close.

It got more and more intense by the second, the three of us lost in a tangle of limbs and mouths. We were all making sounds, loud enough that I almost missed the click of a bottle being opened; but not the feel of a slick finger sliding up my inner thigh.

"If you don't want this to go any further, tell me now, Charlie," his breath rushed past my ear, his voice that foreign purr again and his teeth cutting at the lobe.

I inhaled sharply, tilting my head toward them, eager. There wasn't even any debate about it: I had been thinking about this for quite a while now and there was no way I was backing out.

"Just fucking do it," I urged breathlessly, spreading my legs in an indisputable urge to keep going.

My fingers clenched in the sheets when Louis did just that, his fingers moving further inward and pushing carefully into my entrance. The alien sensation made me catch my breath and my whole body jerked into it, the fire growing even more.

"You okay?" Angel questioned quietly, bumping his bottom lip into my upper one.

I nodded; my head was spinning, but from pleasure, not pain.

"I'm good," I assured both of them, my voice still hoarse but confident. I pressed down on Louis' finger insistently. "Don't stop."

I stumbled on that last word as, before it was fully out, Louis added a second digit, twisting them inside me and stretching me slowly.

I threw my head back and Angel's mouth dipped beneath my chin, leaving a trail of rough kisses over my throat as Louis continued to prepare me.

When he found that spot inside me, my entire vision went white and I cried out involuntarily.

I swore I could still see him smile, though, as he inserted a third finger and probing harder at my prostate. I let out another cry, toes curling at the white-hot electricity racing up my spine. I squirmed, rocking further, trying to get him to move faster.

I whined when he suddenly withdrew his fingers, leaving me-temporarily-empty.

But then, I saw Angel grab a bottle of lubricant as well-presumably the same one Louis had used-and rub some over his rock-hard length and I knew I wasn't going to have to miss them long.

A second later, my head was snapping back again, a keening noise tearing itself from my throat as Angel gingerly slipped inside, the sensation even stranger than the previous one. It hurt, too, the unfamiliar intrusion, but I could tell Angel was making an effort to be gentle and cause me as little pain as possible. I tried to relax, letting my body go limp to help myself push through it; I wasn't going to let a little discomfort put an end to this.

Shocks ran up my spine as Angel slid deeper, mouth grazing over my throat again. My face flushed worse as, at the same time, I saw Louis inch closer, his hands caressing his partner's back, wandering below his waist.

I felt Angel tense when he was buried to the hilt, and I realized it was because Louis was prepping him as he'd done to me. I watched him kiss Angel's shoulder and it pushed me to drag Angel up again, nudging him with my hips.

"Move," I commanded raggedly, teeth catching at his bottom lip.

Angel half-laughed, half-hissed, carefully extricating his lip from between my teeth with a faint smile.

"No need to get violent," he mock chastised me, his own breath stuttering mid-sentence as Louis entered him from behind, pushing him even further into me.

I groaned, leg lifting to wrap around Angel's waist as he granted my request, rolling his hips forward in a measured thrust, pulling nearly all the way out before rocking back in.

This wasn't like being with anyone else, never mind any woman. This was new and amazing and dizzying; as Angel repeated the action, building speed, I couldn't keep myself quiet.

And neither could he.

" _Shit,_ Charlie," he growled into my mouth as it collided with his sloppily, all traces of his composure completely gone now. I clutched at his forearms hard enough to bruise, my body reacting to the repeated use of my first name; that, coupled with the way we were currently connected, heightened the pleasure even more.

Angel sped up while Louis pushed into him again. Their movements seemed to sync up and we built a rhythm that had me panting both their names.

Then, Angel suddenly changed his angle, hitting my prostate again and my gasps escalated into a hoarse scream. I saw stars and I bowed off the bed, grabbing at his back and his partner's arm.

Louis caught my lips over Angel's shoulder and both their hands wrapped around my already leaking cock, beginning to pump me in tandem with their thrusts; that took everything to all new heights.

I lost the ability to speak, only able to whine and gasp, my grip tightening on Angel, inner muscles clenching around him.

The fire I'd been feeling all over was pooling in my stomach, becoming a pulsing, unbearable inferno and I knew I was right on the verge of coming apart.

It took just one, two, three more strokes for me to tumble over the edge, and I let out another wordless cry as I came between Louis and Angel's fingers.

I clenched hard around Angel again, even more tightly and he lost rhythm, thrusts turning rougher and almost clumsy until he suddenly stopped, diving forward as he climaxed, too-and I heard Louis let out a faint exclamation soon after.

He kept moving, though, causing Angel to ride me through all of our orgasms until we were all spent.

Angel collapsed on top of me while Louis fell off to the side, pulling out of his partner while I tried to steady my thundering heartbeat

I felt Angel's breath fanning out over my jumping pulse, gradually evening out before he withdrew from me.

I was going to say something-maybe to ask if I should leave or how exactly they felt about this-but whatever it was died in my throat when Angel draped his arm over me and closed his eyes, making it clear that I was staying.

My lips quirked slightly, and I allowed myself to drift off next to them. The other question could wait until the morning.


	17. Chapter 17

The principal Backer took a sip from his wine, taking note of the four other faces sitting around the table-three men and two women-with him in the West Club at the Feldmont Plaza, midway in between Caindar and Scarborough, an establishment created for only the most high-class individuals. In recent years, it had gone through a name change or two, but this quintet chose to ignore them all. It was their place, and to them, it would always be the West.

They attracted no particular attention, as it was a few hours before noon, the club was practically empty and they were in a private dining room, specially reserved for them and them alone. Though it was morning, their coterie was drinking gins and Pinot Noir, and had declined to order any food as they had another reservation that night. Like their meeting, the reservation had been arranged at short notice; arranged because they had felt another shift. And they wanted to know what it meant.

 _The detective's companion wasn't the only one who could see the threads they were almost completely black now_

 _Almost_

"Well?" one of the women, once the drinks were served, and they could speak without being overheard. She looked over at the Principal Backer, he who had called them together. "What has happened? What has changed?"

The Principal Backer raised his glass in a silent toast but didn't respond. Instead, he turned to the figure sitting to his right, the one who was clad in a navy cloak with the hood pulled up so only half of his face was visible.

The cloaked man curled his gloved hand around the stem of his own glass, taking a drink as well before replying.

"Parker and his companions have discovered what we wanted."

The woman who had spoken raised her eyebrows. That…was not what she'd been expecting. And it sounded too good to be true; after all, it was what they'd been waiting for, what they'd been building to ever since the Traveling Man.

"Your game succeeded?"

The Principal Backer inclined his head, the barest trace of a smile quirking the corners of his mouth: a rare sight.

"It appears so," he affirmed with satisfaction. "Every turn we laid out for him to follow, he has taken. He has brought along the two we knew he would, and he has drawn them to the very crux of everything we have been planning. There are just a few more dominoes that need to be knocked over-and then, they will all take their rightful places on the throne."

His companions shared similar looks. The detective and his two confederates had been in their sights for their entire lives, the central keys to their schemes-and now they were finally in the exact position they needed them to be. If their emissary was to be believed, just one more step and they would finally realize who and what they really were; what they had been all along.

One of the others, a thin, dark man with the disposition of a large crow, felt the need to probe further, however.

"He was _with_ them?"

The cloaked man tilted his head forward.

"I saw them. They were together in the apartment in Portland's Upper West Side. I watched-and then the apartment was wreathed in flames but didn't burn."

None of the others blinked at that. They had heard-and seen-much stranger things than what he'd described. It came with the territory. And that particular phenomenon was a sign-a sign that the bond that had been forged between Parker, the thief and the killer since the day they'd met. They'd met because they were supposed to, because it had been engineered, and that fire-it was what was meant to have been started all along.

"Then, it won't be long before he comes," the other woman, the one with the long, painted fingernails surmised, sounding, for a moment, as if she were speaking more to herself than to her fellow Backers. Then, she turned and added in a slightly louder, more imperious tone. "Your pawn knows what he has to do next to get ready for His arrival? What he will have to do to the boy to get him ready, to get him to serve in our army before the glass breaks?"

There was no regret in her voice, not even a single hint of unease for what they were doing, for she, like those who had gone before her, believed that the rewards for their actions would be worth compromising morals for. She had predicated her every move on that belief: that when their Buried God finally made His entrance, he would thank them for it, grant their wishes in exchange for all they had done to bring him to life.

That was why they were here: that was why they had begun in the first place.

The principal Backer nodded, draining the last of his wine.

"I have already ensured that he will do what is necessary; he has always known how this would end for him. But, if it will ease your mind, one of us will go and verify the matter for you." His gaze returned to his right, toward their cloaked companion.

At that glance, the cloaked man rose. He knew what the principal Backer wanted: for him to make absolute certain that what he'd said would come to pass, to ensure that their God would be given his army. Even without seeing Him, he had always followed his orders to serve, but now that His approach was near, that duty took on a whole new meaning.

 _The blood spilled the lives ripped apart would it get him everything he was promised_

He knew the others felt the same way. That was why they were dining later tonight, that was why the principal Backer had made their dinner reservations at a particular restaurant in Portland, one quite near to where this had all begun.

It was both a celebration-and a last meal before everything changed.


	18. Chapter 18

_The world spins; in the snap of fingers, everything changes. A sea of bodies spreads out before me no delineation between the guilty and the innocent. No one is innocent anymore-especially not me._

 _Seeing the world through tainted eyes overshadowed by the mottled glass all this time lurking behind it my vision is now permanently altered by it_

The shaft of sunlight pierced through crack in the gray curtains in the master bedroom of the apartment in Portland's upper west side, casting a weak illumination over the bed-but it was strong enough to force me to open my eyes.

As I did so, the first thing I noticed was that I wasn't in my own bedroom. I was in a much larger and more tastefully decorated one that carried no traces of a woman having ever been there.

The second thing I noticed was that I wasn't alone.

There were two other forms sleeping on either side of me and, upon recognizing them, the memories of the previous night came flooding back to me, filling me with a maelstrom of emotions-none of which was guilt. I'd been dreaming about this since coming back from the dead and I couldn't believe it had actually happened. I couldn't believe Louis, Angel and I had finally actually slept together.

I shifted between them-in their bed-and took in their bare, slumbering bodies. That bit of sun creeping in through the gap in the curtains was growing and it was throwing Louis, who was closest to the window, into sharp relief.

I stared-I couldn't help it. I'd been attracted to both him and his partner before, but seeing them like this after having been with them in the way that I had the previous night, brought that attraction to a whole new level.

I let my eyes wander over his torso, exposed by the sheets pushed down to his waist. I could see the defined planes of his chest and the lines of his chiseled abdomen; I could also see evidence of where my hands and mouth had been around there, and I flushed a little. I could still remember what it felt like, leaving those marks on him-and I found myself still wanting more. I'd never wanted anyone or anything so much before.

As that sudden raw, unbridled hunger for my bedmates rose inside me again, so, too, did another familiar sensation: the same one I'd experienced while I'd killed Abraham Stone-and the Collector.

It was much more powerful this time, though; it permeated my entire body, manifesting in multiple different ways. The roaring in my ears was louder and the electricity crackling underneath my skin was much fiercer-and it was no longer just on the inside.

I was able to see it now, a sort of gray energy beginning to spark at my fingertips and pulsate in my palms.

It startled me, made my breath stutter in my throat. It felt like something was trying to break out of my flesh, like a cage had been broken and a monster was coming free.

 _A monster that wanted to rage and destroy everyone around it-an exception of the two beside it_

I hadn't wanted to move just yet, but my body was beginning to burn-and freeze-and I needed to see what was going on.

I extricated myself from the tangle of Louis and Angel's bodies and pulled my boxers on before making my way into the bathroom across the hall and over to the mirror.

When I reached it, however, two things happened: all of a sudden, I was dressed-and not in the same clothes I'd been wearing last night-and I realized I couldn't see myself. At least, not properly.

My reflection was swimming in the mirror, distorting so I appeared almost formless, just a quivering blur on the surface of the glass _or behind it_. I could hardly make out anything of my features.

What I _could_ make out, though, was more than a little disconcerting: there were dark lines, gray vines crisscrossing over my arms and my neck, slithering across my skin like serpents.

The most unsettling aspect was what I saw of my eyes. They no longer looked like my eyes; I'd seen how they had changed somewhat after my attack, and I'd been feeling matters shifting even more while I was with Louis and Angel all throughout last night, but I didn't expect this level of alteration.

They were empty and as cold as shards of ice. And, in sharp contrast, they were no longer their previous blue-green; they were an unnaturally bright, indescribable shade.

 _And I saw everything differently; everything in the room was spread out in shades of black and gray as well as their surface colour. I saw motes of darkness, and crimson in my hands and wrists and on the walls. I saw_ through _the walls._

Yet I wasn't afraid; in fact, I felt they were somehow suitable. Considering everything I had done lately, I could only conclude that there was nothing natural about me anymore. I'd been getting the idea that I was no longer human; now I felt this cemented it.

But that once again begged the question: what, exactly, was I?

 _The very entity you have been searching for this entire time_

As if to answer my question-or at least to help me figure it out-at that exact moment, I heard the sounds of someone stirring. I padded out of the bathroom to see Louis gradually rise and roll onto his back, eyes fluttering open before falling instantly on me.

His expression was unreadable at first, his gaze bleary from sleep. But then, he must have seen my face because a line of concern appeared between his thick brows.

"Something wrong?" he asked huskily, propping himself up on his elbows.

I didn't really know how to answer that. My mind was still reeling, both from the reminder of what had happened last night, and from what was happening now inside me-I suspected because of that. I could still feel the energy swirling around my hands and I did want to tell him about it. I just wasn't exactly sure what to say.

Louis pushed the covers away from his legs, swinging them over the side of the bed and coming over to stand in front of me. Genuine worry was creeping onto his bearded face, but my eyes were wandering down, over his still unclothed figure.

Heat stirred in the pit of my stomach again and, as if in response to that, the rushing in my ears grew louder and the wisps of smoke became large writhing tendrils that Louis couldn't possibly not notice.

Obviously, he did: his eyes widened uncharacteristically, only a fraction, but that was still more emotion that he'd ever shown before.

"Hey." The warmth on my face increased and was joined by cold as he cupped my cheek. "What is that?" he asked quietly.

I looked at my hands, looked at the smoke-like vines that were still twisting up my arms, then took a deep breath before attempting to explain.

"Do you remember what I told you, how I killed the Collector and Eldritch?" Louis nodded, and I elaborated. "Well, he wasn't the only one I killed in an…unnatural manner. I did it to that associate of Debhos' the other night, too. Only I didn't burn him; I buried him alive under the floor of his own house."

Louis, strangely, didn't seem all that shocked by that information; he simply arched an eyebrow and dropped his hand to mine.

"And this is how?" he guessed.

I inclined my head cautiously.

"This has been going on since I got out of the hospital. There's some sort of power inside me, Louis-and I think it's why these people are after me, and the two of you."

Louis stared at me, dark-skinned visage becoming impassive once again as he pondered those revelations. I wondered why he wasn't asking me more questions, asking me how that could be; I guessed he was having to suspend his disbelief since he'd gotten involved with me.

An instant later, Angel's distinctive voice joined the conversation.

"And that's why they created this case? To bring out these powers of yours?" he queried, drawing my attention from my hands to him.

He was also getting out of the bed and pulling on his underwear before making his way to join Louis and I at the other end of the room.

I nodded, licking my lips, a paroxysm of guilt darting through me; but it was a fraction of what I'd felt before and it was gone in an instant. I knew this was all my fault, and I knew how and why now, so I should have been feeling guilty-but I wasn't. I knew it was meant to be. We had been bound for this since the beginning. I was no longer the man they had known, but, if I was correct, then soon none of us would be what we had been.

But it was up to them whether or not to stay with me and allow the transformations to progress further.

The two of them looked at me, Louis' eyes boring holes into mine, like he was staring right into my core. And in his gaze, I saw something similar to what I'd seen in my own-a touch of otherworldliness, a hint of the supernatural.

 _A glimpse of what is to come what lurks behind the guise of the mortal what do you see that others cannot_

"We knew something like this would turn out to be part of it," he stated lowly, sounding as if we were speaking more to himself than me or Angel. Then he addressed me directly, "But you know none of that matters, right? Whatever is going on for whatever reason, whatever you want to do about it, we're staying right here-even if those powers of yours are the reason for what's happened to us in the past."

 _That was one of the longest sentences he'd ever said and as close to a declaration of love as I think I'd ever heard-and would ever hear-from him_

Angel, in an unexpected moment of, I assumed, impulse, came even closer and tugged me forward into another deep kiss, wordlessly signalling his agreement with his partner's statement.

 _The keys have found their lock_

I smiled with satisfaction into the kiss, responding enthusiastically, bolstered by the gesture and the words-but not surprised. I'd had a feeling matters would work out this way.

Angel had once told me if I decided I wanted to take out Congress, Louis would find some way to be the one to light the fuse. What I was thinking of doing next was significantly more subversive-and more drastic-but I now knew that they would still be beside me. And that made things a lot easier and clearer.

The Backers had known this was sleeping inside me this whole time; they'd fucked up and sacrificed more than one life just to get it to come to the surface. And Abraham Stone had said that Louis and Angel were a part of it as well; if what Louis had told me of himself before, and what I had just seen in his eyes was any indication, he was something other than human as well. He had been all along.

There was still one last part of the scheme I wasn't getting-and in order to get it, I knew I was going to have to go straight to the source. They'd probably give it to me without a fight; they probably thought that doing so would grant them some kind of reprieve from the destruction they wanted me, us, to cause.

But they were wrong; they weren't going to get what they wanted. Once I knew the full truth of our identities, they were going to get something else entirely.

And Louis, Angel, and I were going to be the ones to give it to them.


	19. Chapter 19

They had sent their emissary to tell him in no uncertain terms that it was time for him to finish what he'd started. Fortunately, he was already in the process of putting into motion a plan for doing exactly that; when he got the call, he was ready.

The boy-Kyle-had been at home, too, when their messenger came; Debhos had sent him to bring in the firewood from the back of the house and then make lunch. He had seen the stranger enter and no doubt wondered who they were and what they wanted.

He was about to find out the answer to one of those questions.

 _He needs to take the final step end his life and his soul becomes theirs he becomes His forever_

Debhos loped down from his office in the Brandt house; it used to be Kyle's bedroom until Debhos had forced him out so as to set a precedent for how things were going to be between them. He'd thought defiling Kyle's mother in what once been his sanctuary might be enough to drive him to become a Reaper; that having failed had been what made him decide to kill Natalie Brandt.

When that still hadn't been enough and when the detective, Parker, had come into the picture, that was when he'd begun formulating this plan. If murdering the boy's mother hadn't been sufficient impetus for him to take revenge, then maybe a more direct attack was in order. Maybe his own life needed to be put in real danger.

He was entering the kitchen just as Kyle was returning from behind the house, arms full of logs. He swore he could see the boy's hackles rise as they came within feet of each other-the same thing that happened pretty much every time they were in the same room. This time, there was definitely a good reason for it.

Debhos' mouth twisted into a cruel facsimile of a smile at Kyle's arrival, gloved fingers twitching toward the _tools_ he had hidden beneath his dark-and once high quality-coat. Violence was what he had been bred for; more specifically, violence against the Brandt family to get the boy to become what they needed-and he was just itching to inflict more pain.

"I changed my mind; we won't be needing lunch," he said in that unnaturally high-pitched voice of his, a predatory shadow falling over his beady eyes as he advanced closer to Kyle.

The brown-haired teen's gaze narrowed, and he set the stack of wood down, instantly on his guard. Debhos knew he could probably see what was coming next: the aunt-Amy-was right there, also, standing by the stove with a stirring utensil in her small hand, cooking the meal she knew Kyle was supposed to be making. That was good. He wanted Kyle to know, and he wanted there to be witnesses; they were a key part of his scheme.

He came to a halt between them, undoing the buttons of his coat so they could see-so they would have no doubt about what was going to happen.

"I know what you did, boy," he said to Kyle; he was still smiling, showing his sharp, yellowing teeth. He bored holes into Kyle's watery eyes. "I know you talked to that private investigator, even after I told you explicitly not to. You disobeyed me-and that has to be punished."

He turned fully toward Kyle, whose eyes had widened to almost the size of saucers. Clearly, he hadn't been expecting Debhos to know about that-he had no idea what he was dealing with.

He withdrew a _tool_ from the belt he had wrapped around his middle and raised it in Kyle's direction, advancing on him again. He knew They'd wanted Kyle to prove that he could be intelligent about killing him, so he would execute a plan like the one their golden boy had to get on their radar; but circumstances had interfered. They wanted him in their clutches sooner rather than later, so some concessions were going to have to be made.

Kyle backed up, lifting his palms in a defensive gesture, his eyes darting toward his aunt. He knew he'd put her in danger; he'd obviously thought Debhos would take that out on her, not him directly. Apparently, that fear hadn't been enough to keep him quiet, though; he'd played right into their hands.

"I'm sorry," he apologized; but there was no actual remorse in his voice-except, most likely, for the fact that he'd gotten caught.

Debhos wagged his finger at him.

"No, you're not-and you don't have to be. I know you were trying to protect your family; but the only reason they ever needed protecting was you."

He punctuated that last word by shooting out his free hand, shoving at Kyle before stabbing at him with the dagger in the other.

Kyle fell to the floor, but the knife never made contact. Some invisible force stopped it before it could meet flesh, and it and Debhos' arm hung, suspended in the air, mere inches away from him.

And then, he heard the rumbling.

It started in the walls, causing them to shake; it was only a small shake, but the sound along was enough to alarm everyone in the room-except Debhos. He recognized what was happening; but he hadn't expected it here. _He_ wasn't supposed to be here, not now; he wasn't supposed to interfere with this. It was for Him, after all.

And yet…

The shaking intensified, so much so that the already worn walls began to crack, and the floor quivered, making it difficult to remain standing.

Kyle and his aunt's expressions both morphed into pure terror when the front door suddenly blew open and three shadows appeared in the threshold, black tendrils flailing around them in knife-like shapes _a clear threat arriving on the horizon_ coming straight toward them.

"You're not going to do anything more here-or anywhere else-ever again." He heard that voice from all around him, as if it were coming from the house itself; it lanced through his skull and set his teeth on edge in a way nothing else ever had.

Debhos whipped around, his head aching from the volume-and from the power that reverberated through it. He knew it was the detective, but the voice no longer sounded the same; it sounded old, deep, echoing like some ancient devil speaking from within the pit and it caused his skin to prickle uncharacteristically.

Fear and bafflement rose up inside him, welling up until he couldn't hide either one.

"You're not supposed to be here," he declared, actually aghast. "This isn't what they want; this isn't a part of their plan."

Parker sauntered in ahead of his two confederates, long coat trailing behind him in the already howling wind and a strange simmering in his multicoloured eyes.

"I'm making my own plan now: one which begins with you not surviving to see another day."

As he spoke that last word, Debhos suddenly seized, feeling his chest constrict more and more the closer Parker got. Smoke filled his vision, filled his lungs so he had to struggle for breath and forcing the knife to tumble out of his grip.

It clattered to the floor and, in the corner of his eye, he saw Kyle scurrying away from it and scrambling over to his aunt; but Debhos was no longer worried about him. All of his focus was on the… _being_ who was now attempting to kill him. It was not the one who was supposed to be his executioner.

"You can't do that!" he wheezed, fighting past the tightness and the pain in his lungs, turning towards Parker with a mad look in his beady eyes.

The detective kept coming, unmoved, and the taste of metal began to fill his mouth. He choked.

"There are still things I can tell you, things about you, things about your friends!"

"Whatever those are, they can tell me themselves," Parker was now only centimeters away, but Debhos could barely see him through the crimson fog that was consuming his vision.

He felt something hot and wet running down his cheeks and thickening in his throat; his muscles were weakening, suffused with agony and he knew he wasn't getting through. He made one last attempt, though, one last effort to put things back on track while he still could.

" _They don't even know themselves; they can't, not until you know what you really are and your army takes their place beside you!"_

 _Your fates are entwined always have been they cannot know theirs until you know yours_

Through his now blurry sight, Debhos saw that Parker barely batted an eyelid; that had to have stirred _something_ in his mind, but he didn't show it. Instead, he simply snapped his fingers-and the last of the air in Debhos' lungs evaporated. He crumpled, unable to see-or breathe-anymore.  
~

I observed with a blank expression as Debhos fell in on himself, blood streaming out of his mouth as his lips turned blue like frost. I felt nothing for killing him; but his last words had left an impression through my stupor of violence. What could he know about my friends that they didn't even know themselves?

Obviously, I couldn't ask him any longer…

I tilted my head in the direction o the men in question. They were unreadable; except there was a hint of…something in Louis' charcoal visage. The words seemed to have struck a chord with him as well.

But, as soon as I noticed it, it was gone.

I was going to question him, ask him what he thought about it; but another voice interrupted-a scared, puzzled voice.

"Why did you do that? Why did you kill him?"

It was Kyle, holding a protective arm across his aunt's front, but taking a tentative step toward me.

I saw turmoil in his eyes, torn between horror and gratitude and grief. I surprised myself by feeling nothing for him, either; no pity for what he had gone through, no satisfaction at having saved him from being killed or becoming a killer himself. In fact, as I looked into his wavering gaze, I heard that roaring in my ears again, and a quiet, insidious voice urging me to change that, to finish Debhos' mission.

 _He is meant to be your weapon forge him like you would steel the fires of hell are on your side another soldier for you to command_

And the thing was, I almost didn't want to fight it, either; I wanted to turn that terror into apathy, to sharpen those weak edges into blades that I could wield at my will.

But, on the other hand, with the primordial strength I had pulsing through me now, did I really need anyone else on my side? I had an army already-my two companions were more than enforcement enough. Especially since one of them was a Reaper, too, and if what I suspected about both of them was true.

 _If I cannot make him a sword I will make him nothing at all_

"Because he wanted to die," I finally replied, my voice an unfamiliar frigid, empty thing, smooth like a flowing glacier with no empathy or apology. "His masters wanted _you_ to kill him, so you would become another one of their creatures; but I couldn't have that. However, I can't have _them_ know I'm coming, either, so I'm afraid we're going to have to follow through where he wouldn't."

I flicked my fingers and, before either Kyle or his aunt could ask what I meant, a bullet caught each of them in the stomach and they fell to the floor beside their terrorizer, brownish stains spreading over their middles and eyes growing glassy.

I had never been able to countenance the killing of children before, especially since my own child had been taken from me in such a gruesome manner. Yet I still felt curiously empty as I stood over the fallen bodies of the brown-haired teen and his aunt; being the one to order their deaths didn't elicit even a single ounce of guilt.

 _The final slide into darkness_

I thought Angel might raise some objection to the heartless slaughter, act the conscience somewhat like he usually did, but he said nothing. Louis stepped out of the threshold, moving fluidly to my side, his hand brushing against my own as he lowered his gun and asked a simple, unaffected question.

"Is that it, then?"

 _True to their word they stood behind me whatever my action no reproach or reprimand_

I shook my head. We weren't done.

"His masters, the Backers, they're still out there-and they still have a stake in this. They know why this is happening-and why it was connected to my being with you. And I get the feeling they won't divulge any of it once they find out about this."

I saw Louis tilt his head to the side slightly, his eyes falling on me like they had that morning, like they were penetrating right into my very core, the core of what had been plotted in my name.

The corners of my mouth lifted as he shifted an inch closer.

"Then, we have another hunt to organize."

Both of us looked over our shoulders to Angel, who gave us the barest trace of a nod. He didn't ask questions or demand answers; he was in.

 _They will follow him into the very depths of this honeycomb world and become what they were always meant to be_

 _What He_ needs _them to be_


	20. Chapter 20

_The walls of the honeycomb world are crumbling, quaking all around them._

 _They who have hidden within its depths for so long, who have forged the path, who have hunted for their Buried God, their carefully laid works are beginning to be revealed-and shattered._

 _The truth has been shrouded, muddled and confused, jumbled by centuries of concealment and misdirection. But He has taken steps closer to it-with his partners in tow-and with every step, he chips away another bit of those walls and the quake grows even worse._

 _He has slept within his single, human forms, oblivious to his nature and unable to access his abilities, strangled by the cage of blood and bone for so long. He chose it, though, chose to escape the honeycomb world and take refuge in such unassuming vessels. He knew his jailers were always watching: he could not afford for them to know of his return-not yet, not until He was ready. Not until all his pieces had assembled beside him to take back what was stolen from him._

 _What their prison had taken from him._

 _With every fracture, the darkness spills forth; His darkness. His companions are infected with it, and it pulls away the blinds they were obscured by their entire lives._

 _His enemies-and his followers-think they know what face he is wearing. They made every attempt to destroy, or turn him; but their assumption was incorrect._

 _He was right under their noses for nearly twenty years. They taught him how to survive, how to fight, how to kill._ _They taught him how to tap into what he had lost, and now it, too, will rise from his former prison and allow him to ruin every last one of them-enemies and allies alike._

 **There are no innocents no one to be spared**

 _The rot is spreading to the human world and it takes with it every soul that has ever stood in His path._

 **They come**

Though they had never met before, the former police officer Walter Cole and the rabbi Epstein had known of each other for quite a while. They were both in Charlie Parker's orbit, and had played host to him while he had been searching for answers about his past, his parentage.

They were both in Scarborough now, encountering one another for the first time. It was arranged in a place where there could be no onlookers-and where the detective would be sure to find them.

"Is this a church?" the retired police officer quipped as he took a seat on a varnished bench, observing the coloured glass windows and the row of curving candles along each of the velvet-draped walls. It certainly looked like a church: except no altar, no organ and no sketchy collection box.

"It is a place where people may worship, if they choose; but mostly, it is where my brethren and I meet on the rare occasion that we are all here," Epstein explained honestly, handing Walter a cup of water and lowering himself into a place across from him.

Walter tipped his head in thanks and took a drink, considering his explanation. He had a feeling the rabbi wasn't talking about fellow members of a congregation.

 _Or just not the kind he thought_

"Why here?" he wondered.

Epstein wasn't immediately forthcoming with a response this time, pausing to check something on a device he had hidden in his sleeve; it looked like a cell phone, except there were hardly any buttons and the screen was an odd shape.

"The same reason you have come: a mutual interest in the private detective, Parker." He paused, tapping on the device's surface before changing subjects.

"He killed him, you know: the one you and that officer in Caindar sent him after. He died-and he wasn't shot."

Walter's graying brows contracted and his expression became one of concern.

"How do you know that?"

"Bodies tend to draw attention; especially ones that look like him, who have no visible reason to be dead," the other man stated. That last part troubled Walter even more; if Debhos hadn't been shot and he'd had no visible reason to be dead, how did they know Parker had killed him?

More importantly, what did that mean for Walter since he'd been the one to suggest Parker be brought in the first place?

He let out a distressed breath.

"How was he killed, then?"

"I caused him to hemorrhage-without touching him," a familiar voice answered for the rabbi as another entity entered the chamber, drawing both of their attention.

It was the very man they had been discussing-the detective-and he wasn't alone.

Walter and Epstein shared a glance, and they could tell they were thinking the same thing.

 _We were talking about him; we brought him to mind and in doing so, summoned him up-like a ghost._

 _Or a demon._

"Charlie," Walter greeted him, pretending like his former partner's sudden appearance hadn't unsettled him-to the point of giving him a chill. "What he's saying, it's true?"

Parker inclined his head, sauntering out of the shadows, a liquidity to his movements to match that of his tall, black friend-a predatoriness that definitely had not been there before.

His companions remained in the dark, close at his heels-but not too close-and silent, clearly waiting for the cue to act.

"I just told you it was," he confirmed offhandedly, as if the matter was of no real importance. "He gave me what I wanted, so he was no longer useful."

Walter's frown darkened; he'd never heard Charlie speak like that about anyone before-so callous and careless. Something was definitely different.

"You do realize what that means? I was the one who Tedor to bring you into this case. If you really did kill that guy, then that puts me in jeopardy, too," he pointed out, unable to keep a hint of distress out of his voice.

Parker shrugged.

"well, then, I guess it's lucky the only other people who could tie you to it is dead as well." When Walter's eyes widened, Charlie chuckled lightly. "Don't worry, _I_ didn't kill Tedor; but the kid is gone, too. And the people who put them in my crosshairs are next on the list; if you don't want to join them, I suggest you don't try and stop me-or be ready to help me if I need it."

Walter opened and closed his mouth like a fish, unable to believe this turn of events. Even with all of the messed up things Parker had done in the past, he'd never regretted being his partner-or his friend-until now.

 _If he was willing to take Walter down just to get what he wanted to have the freedom to keep killing then he wasn't who he once was their relationship could not survive this_

"Why would you do that, Charlie?Why would you put us all on the line like this?" he demanded lowly, not understanding what could possibly have caused the private detective to turn on him like this.

Parker's lips twisted into a cruel facsimile of a smile; an expression Walter had never seen on him before, and he definitely didn't like it.

Not one bit.

"Because I'm not a good man, Walter. In fact, I'm not a man at all." _none of us are_

Walter didn't know how to respond to that-he wanted to ask what the hell Charlie was talking about, but another voice interrupted.

"So you've finally realized the truth."

It was a voice Walter didn't recognize, but Charlie did. It was the same voice he'd heard come out of Angel's mouth the night he'd killed Abraham Stone; this time, it was speaking through Epstein.

The rabbi had stood from his position on the bench, a strange swirling in his eyes as he came over to the other two men. Walter tensed-but Charlie simply arched an eyebrow.

"You finally know: the light you tried to drape yourself in, the lives you once fought so hard to save, it was all lies. You were never meant to be the hero of this story; you were always meant to be the villain."

Another voice undercut that one, a sibilant hiss that seemed to come from all around them, chilling Walter to the bone.

 _And you are not the only one_

 _The ones who walk beside you they belong on a throne of their own-the throne in the center for_ Him

When Walter looked at his former partner, the younger man appeared barely fazed by any of what had just occurred.

"Tell me who we need to go after; tell me how to get to the Backers," he demanded in a voice of deceptive, almost dangerous calm.

"The list," the entity controlling the rabbi said simply, as if Charlie should have already known that. "The names will tell you who to punish-and you and your friends' powers will take care of the rest."


	21. Chapter 21

Angel knew it wasn't really the rabbi speaking; he couldn't get the words of whoever-or whatever-it was, out of his head. He'd never considered himself or any of them to be heroes, but he'd never considered them outright villains, either.

Then, there was the part about Louis. He always thought there was more to his partner than met the eye-and definitely more than he'd told him either him or Parker-but he'd never thought it would have been anything to do with the supernatural.

Parker, sure; Parker having powers made sense. Everyone had always suspected him of harbouring some dark spirit, but Louis…

He swiveled his head around to the subject of his thoughts, wondering what his opinion of this was.

Louis was still in the shadows; but, even so, Angel could see there was something happening to him. His eyes were turning solid black, even blacker than his skin, and his face-there was something moving across it, forming spider-web lines like cracks in a mirror _he is not a dark angel he is something else entirely_

"Louis?" he called worriedly, unsure whether to go to him or to back away slowly.

His partner didn't respond-but maybe he couldn't. The fractures were spreading rapidly, but his flesh wasn't breaking. It was the mask-the mask of the mortal.

 _Break the cage reveal the three parts of the whole once assembled they form the Old Serpent the God of blood and tears_

Angel started: when it broke away completely, the entity in Epstein made him to sink to one knee, bowing his head in homage.

"My lord," he breathed reverently.

Angel saw Walter-and Parker-'s heads snap toward Louis, Parker's eyes widening a fraction like that meant something to him. Like he knew why Epstein was calling his partner 'Lord'.

"Well done, my followers. You wanted to see me rise; congratulations, you've succeeded." It was Louis' voice; there was no mistaking it. But Angel had never heard him say anything or sound like that before, like a king addressing his subject.

 _Or a god addressing his supplicant_

A rictus grin twisted the rabbi's mouth, his facial muscles looking as though they were being forced, like something was forcing it as he bowed his spine further, nose practically touching the floor.

Louis shifted, lifting his hand, and the darkness quivered, a sound like air rushing filling all their ears

"Here is your reward." The former assassin was suddenly in front of Epstein, hands clamping down on either side of his head, coiled tight with what appeared to thorny, undulating black vines.

Angel jumped at the sound of a choked, agonized scream abruptly tearing itself from the rabbi's throat. His eyes rolled back, but there was no white; they were clear. And, like that film over Louis' face, they cracked-and he keeled over, limbs splayed at unnatural angles.

And then Louis turned to Parker.

"It's been a long time, my friend-my other half." His gaze ticked over to Angel, a wider smile in those eyes. "My other _halves_."

Angel's eyebrows shot up past his hairline. What was that supposed to mean? He felt confusion, of course; but he felt something else, too.

Something stirred deep in his chest as those eyes-familiar and yet not familiar at the same time-met his; something shifted inside him, a piece slotting into place. _a piece of a puzzle he couldn't even remember starting_

 _Another mask falling away the third key is about to be turned_

"What-?" he couldn't stop a gasp from escaping his lips; but it was cut off.

His world spun on its axis, a dizziness filling him. The sensation intensified, and he clutched at his head, his vision blurring and a cacophony of sound suddenly bursting within his ears. _All the voices screaming in your veins_ There were colours pulsating around everyone in the hall, and a writhing in his blood stream like something in his blood, like something trying to break out of his skin.

And the voices, voices not his own; voices of the past, the present, the future. He saw images, thoughts, memories that weren't his, either. They were everyone else's. He'd always felt he had kind of a sixth sense for reading people, but this was taking it to a whole new level.

 _only two people in this room are truly human and they have been tainted by their association with you_

What he saw in his partner's mind was not at all what he would have thought.

He glimpsed an abyss, a haunting, mist-filled, endless void where a shadow lurked, where a shadow ascended up from the depths-and then split into three _a fragment what he was before he took his vessels_

"It's you, isn't it," Parker was speaking now, his tone strangely only faintly bemused instead of full-on shocked. He stepped in between Angel and Louis, a few inches away from the latter. "You're who they've been doing all of this for, the one they all worship."

Louis really smiled then.

"We all are, Charlie," he intoned, caressing his face almost affectionately. "You who have died and returned, you who have been to the world between worlds, you are the right hand of the Buried God." He looked at Angel again. "And you are the left. _We_ are the One Who Waits Behind the Glass."

Angel felt something click in his mind. He'd heard Parker say that name before; he couldn't remember when, but he remembered what it had been in connection to. The Believers, the Backers, the entity they all worshiped, that was what they called it. That was one of its names.

He'd only heard Parker say the one, but somehow, he was able to recall all the others they had for him _none of which were very encouraging._ The God of Wasps, Mister Goodkind. Abaddon or the Old Serpent.

 _It was the light that fell the sun eclipsed 'and I saw a star fallen from heaven to the earth and to him was given the key to the bottomless pit'_

And they were it-Him. They had been in front of their followers the whole time; none of them had known it.

As if in one final bit of proof, Angel caught sight of himself in an uncoloured windowpane and the reflection of his surroundings was not where he was. There was a nothingness around him, the same one he'd seen in his partners head, rife with lightning and jagged surfaces like the edge of a knife.

He approached, making as if to touch the glass-and it shattered. It all shattered. 

I saw what Angel had done and I knew why; I knew that what his partner- _our_ partner-had said was true.

I was not what I had once believed myself to be, and neither were the man I had chosen to spend my time with. There was something else-something not human-inside them, just as there was within me. In fact, it was the _same_ thing-the entity they had all been searching for this entire time.

I had to admit that that wasn't what I had been expecting. I used to say that, if I was harbouring some dark spirit, that aspect of me had had many chances to surface and since it had not done so, that had to mean that the ones who believed it was there were wrong.

But now I knew I was the one who had been wrong. It had been there all along; it had just been waiting. Waiting to reveal itself until its-His-other pieces were awakened as well.

Waiting so it could become whole.

 _That time is now_

We had, at some point, arranged ourselves into an almost triangle-like formation on the floor that was now littered with shards of broken glass. Epstein was still unconscious, sprawled out where he'd collapsed and Walter was behind us, staring with a mix of astonishment and bafflement.

"What the hell is going on?" he questioned hoarsely, speaking for the first time in several moments, his eyes darting between the three of us and landing on Louis, uncharacteristically wide and fearful. "What happened to him?What is he talking about?"

I tilted my head slowly in his direction, my face utterly blank. In all honestly, I had forgotten he was there; he'd clearly heard everything, but he didn't understand any of it. I'd only ever told him the most minimal information about the Believers since I'd first encountered them; he'd never had to deal with them, so I hadn't thought he needed to know.

But that, like everything else in my life, had altered. If I was going to let him live-and maybe it was just lingering sentimentality for our previous relationship, but I didn't want to kill him just yet-then he would have to be of use. And if he was going to be of use, then he would need to know who and what he was dealing with.

"I know you never believed in the supernatural, Walter, but you're going to have to start," I intoned, giving him a look to convey that this wasn't up for debate.

I saw his eyebrows begin to rise, so I elaborated.

"The Believers are a cult of fallen angels residing in human hosts. Their mission on Earth has been to bring to life the entity they-and their bosses-worship. They called it the One Who Waits Behind the Glass, and, as it turns out, that is us."

Walter clearly didn't know how to react to that; all of this was probably far beyond his comprehension. Sadly, I didn't really have the patience to explain it to him in more detail; so, I decided to leave it to someone else.

"When Epstein wakes up, ask him to tell you what he knows-and to help you get a grip on things. Once you have, be ready for when I call on you."

I didn't give him time to argue or ask any more questions. Thanks to Louis' awakening and what he'd gotten from our servant inside the rabbi, I knew who our first target was and where he was going to be.

And I was eager to cross his name off that list.


	22. Chapter 22

We decided after a brief, private discussion that going after the most publicly known Backer first would set the correct tone for what was to come; it would send the message we wanted, and it would force the others to come out of the woodwork. That would make them easier to identify and execute.

Through some not very difficult to find information, we were able to discover that Garrison Pryor, the head of Pryor Investments had an office building up in Vermont. It wasn't that far from our current location and, with our newfound talents, we didn't have to drive. All we had to do was step through the glass and instantly be where we wanted as long as there was another glass nearby-and in a building as pricey as someone with his kind of status would most likely be working out of, it was sure to be all over the place.

Even right inside his office.

He wasn't there when we entered, but I sensed he was in the vicinity. He would have to come back up eventually, so all we had to was wait.

The corners of Louis' mouth quirked when I took a seat behind his desk, arranging myself into a deceptively relaxed pose. I didn't need to make myself look intimidating; Pryor's knowledge of my true identity would be intimidation enough-at least, once he realized I wasn't here to reward him for helping me uncover it. He and Angel knew what I was thinking; I could see why it amused him.

I sat back and focused: I had the patience to wait as long as I needed to, but not the inclination. Practical application had come with the revelation of my abilities, so I knew that I could draw him to us. I cast my senses out, intent on getting him up here to face his judgement.

It was quick work, only taking a few moments of concentration before the door swung inward and the very man himself finally walked through it.

He looked just as he had when Rachel's ex-boyfriend, Jeff had brought him to my house-without permission or any kind of warning, I might add: dressed in a suit that probably cost more than my car and wearing an expression of what I perceived to be genuine interest.

"Mr. Parker," he greeted me cordially, hands clasped behind his back in an expectedly businesslike manner. "It's nice to see you again. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

"We had a standing appointment, _Garrison_ ," I replied, the words coming to me automatically, my voice unfamiliarly cold and empty as an icicle. "And you just wouldn't let us miss it."

Pryor's brows furrowed, as if confused-but only for an instant. Then, his gaze drifted to my sides and he must have noticed the two other forms hidden at my back, allowing him to put two and two together. Allowing him to realize who he was really confronting.

"It's you," he stated with an unconcealed note of wonder, confirming my assertion. A triumphant smile spread over his lips as I, in turn, confirmed his. "They were right; we did it."

I offered him an artificial grin in return, tracing a symbol onto the wooden surface of the desk almost subconsciously.

"You and your fellow Backers did well," I pretended to commend him, tone falsely indulgent. I wanted to lure him into thinking that we were here to offer him congratulations, maybe even some kind of gift of gratitude, to lure him into a false sense of security; meanwhile, the symbols I was inscribing into the desk were spell forms, meant to do precisely the opposite.

 _And they weren't going to be the only thing he had to worry about_

"Going through all of that with the Believers to bring us together and constructing that case with the Brandt boy to awaken us to the reality of who we are; that must have taken a lot of effort."

I pressed my nails into the edge of the wood, and a second voice-the _other_ voice of one of my other halves-reverberated underneath mine, seeming to come from somewhere other than my mouth.

 _Now let me show you what you have wrought_

The invisible sigil I had constructed began to glow.

A clap of thunder rumbled outside the office building, breaking the brief silence; the sky shown in the window _bruised blackened rent with a primal scream_ opened up into a downpour of rain. The building shook, the force surging through the walls and causing fault lines to split the floor. Once again, now that I was aware of what I was, I was completely conscious of what I was doing: I was willing all of this _and his will becomes reality_. I thought of it, and the ceiling began to cave in. Plaster and stone crumbled around us-and I knew without a doubt that I was the one bringing it down.

Pryor didn't look afraid at first; he watched what I was doing with awe, even elation, eyes bright like it was all entertainment to him, like it was a show I was putting on for his amusement. I let him believe it for a moment; he would die laughing from that notion.

 _Screaming when it shattered_

Another symbol appeared on the desk-one that hadn't come from me-and the wood groaned, twisting in front of me into a spike. The air hardened around it, turning it frigid like an iceberg. I tasted frost in the atmosphere and the scent of ozone filled my nostrils, power churning through it, aching to be released in a riot of destruction.

 _Let it loose_ , Louis communicated silently, his voice sounding like mine _our connection made manifest in sound_. I consented, letting my body be a channel for the energies itching to be released from all three of us.

The gleaming metal floor parted beneath Pryor, looking uncannily like a giant mouth; the wood of the desk turned black, wrapping around him like chains and that finally caused the grin to slide off his face, mouth morphing into a slack, uncomprehending line.

"What are you doing?" he demanded with an attempt at bravado; but I could hear the hint of terror under it, and I could sense that his amusement had been replaced by actual fear-something I bet he wasn't used to feeling.

I smirked; I had shaken him.

"Giving you what you deserve," Angel responded for me, his tone also strangely-and eerily-identical to my own _no emotion no remorse only wrath_ and that other voice undercut his words as well.

 _You thought you could just mess around with their lives and not suffer any consequences you thought that just because it was to bring your deity out of our bodies would mean that our previous selves wouldn't have anything to say about it_

Pryor's eyes widened and he struggled against his bonds, hands rising to clutch at the air, at anything that would protect him as the void began to drag him down.

"No, wait, please!" he exclaimed pleadingly, desperation entering his tone now. "This isn't how it was supposed to go! Everything I did-everything we did- was to release you from your mental prisons, and here you are! We gave you what you couldn't get for yourself: your freedom."

"And you think that entitles you to what? More money? Some other kind of power? A medal, perhaps?" Angel sneered derisively, cocking his head from his new position at my left. Then his derision transformed back into icy distaste. "I don't think you did your homework very well: we aren't a god of benevolence or kindness. We are a god of vengeance, blood and tears; we are a god of only wrath. Services rendered is no guarantee of a reward."

 _This is what the lot of you will receive any kind of attention is practically signing your own death warrant_

The wooden chains resumed yanking Pryor into the gaping hole, forcefully knocking him off his feet. He fought, but the air itself weighed his limbs down, keeping him from being able to rise again, keeping him from even being able to move an inch; the air ignited an instant later, those black flames I had conjured before catching on the material of his expensive suit, consuming him in the blink of an eye, and he screamed, an unnaturally high-pitched, agonized sound.

Neither Louis nor Angel nor I moved a muscle, simply observing as he was pulled further and further into the blackness, arms and legs flailing, nails scrabbling at the floor for purchase, for a way to save himself and escape, leaving white marks on the metal. But it was to no avail, and his screams echoed throughout the office until he was completely devoured; they petered out, then, and it was like he'd never been there at all.

For moments afterward, none of us said a word, merely stared at his vacated spot. There was no trace left of what had occurred, other than the marks Pryor's nails and the black fire had left on the floor. Well, no other visible trace: but the scent of decay hung heavy in the office now, the acrid stench of burned flesh and dark magic. If any who knew about our existence entered, they would know what had been done here-what _we_ had done.

I rose fluidly from the chair, Angel and Louis flanking me on either side as I made my way over to the large, double-paned window on the left wall. It struck me that this… _encounter_ had been a lot easier to stomach than the others; perhaps because I wasn't alone this time. Having my partners next to me had made the whole experience much more…thrilling than the others.

These new changes in our dynamic were quite curious: once, I had been the moral compass-the one who protested at excessive executions, who kept the worst of Louis and Angel in check while they allowed the worst of me an outlet. But now, it seemed they would have to be the ones to rein me in, who would have to keep me from killing anyone needlessly. And maybe, sometime, I would even listen.

Fortunately, that wouldn't be any time soon; the ones I was intending on going after next-none of their deaths were needless. They were all necessary.

A cruel, slightly rueful smile twisted my mouth at that thought-and at the one that came as I gazed out the window, taking in the flashes of lightning and the lashing of rain against the glass _streaks and slashes down the crystal clear surface_. We weren't that far away from where Rachel lived now, where she had taken Sam after our separation, I noted with an odd detachment.

Once, I would have most likely only been in this area to see them; but, as it turned out, Rachel was right to stay away from me. She must have sensed something of what was inside me before I did, sensed what it would bring down on her and our child and made the right decision to take her, to keep her from me. I always knew she was an intelligent woman-that was why I'd liked her.

For now, they were safe; for now, they weren't even a blip on my radar.

 _But soon even Vermont wouldn't be far enough away from me if we ever crossed paths again I would destroy her and Sam as I would have so many others I would hurt her and I would hurt our daughter and I would feel no guilt for it._

 _The part of me that would have felt guilt was gone frozen in shadows and steel-and the part of me that cared for the innocent for anyone except those who now stood beside me was about to be destroyed completely_

 ** _The fires of rebirth are about to be set and from them I will emerge cleansed of my human taint and ready to be the merciless deity I-we-were always meant to be_**


	23. Chapter 23

Pryor's disappearance-which was what it was, as far as most of the world was concerned-made the news the next morning; the reporter said that foul play was suspected, but there was no official suspect as of yet.

His fellow Backers, however, didn't need to hear or see the report to know that. They felt it, felt the moment Pryor's soul left this earthly plain and was swallowed up by the force they had awakened, and they knew that there had been foul play. It wasn't a connection they had wanted, but it was a result of their shared crimes and proclivities-and, because of it, they knew who had killed Pryor, too.

Normally, they didn't gather more than once in a season: but this was an especially dire circumstance.

"It was Them," the principal Backer declared to the others all sitting around him in a circle. The one they'd been watching, the one who'd once called himself Parker, and his partners, his other halves: they had merged just as they were meant to, and their first act was to use their deific ability to take one of their supplicants. "Our master has seen fit to eliminate one of us."

The others didn't have to ask why; they all knew the same thing-they had all seen it happen, just as their leader had. They had seen that void devour their fellow Backer and knew how it had come about.

They'd seen the three before they became one, seen them kill both the sacrifice-and the tool it was meant to build. They'd embraced the darkness in a way they'd never allowed themselves before, merged to become the entity that was meant to condemn every soul, regardless of guilt or innocence; but they weren't following the script anymore. They'd declared that they killed Pryor because of his hand in the machinations that had brought them here; if that were the case, then he wasn't going to reward the others for their part in it, either. He was making it clear that he was not going to be a party to their manipulations; he was going to be the manipulator, the one who pulled the strings.

 _This is your penance_

 _He would leave new darker forms of destruction in his wake and turn an awfully blank eye to the suffering and tragedy he had once fought to prevent. He will not help or avenge the innocent anymore; he will fight only for himself. And the ones who once thought themselves his friends, they would all be tainted by their association with Him; he would make certain of it._

"He has ascended, but He has not seen fit to reward our faithfulness; instead, He has chosen to punish us."

His companions all shared an uncharacteristically stricken look. In the course of all of their plots and their intercessions, it had never occurred to them that their god would choose to turn on them. They hadn't planned for this.

"So, what do we do?" one of the women, who called herself Elenor, questioned.

The principal Backer gazed across the table, to the figure wrapped in the cloak, their face hidden by its hood. He had seen more than any of them; he knew firsthand what was coming-and he didn't have an answer.

"There is nothing we can do."

They feared him now, the dark angels' masters, the ones who had once wanted nothing more than for him to see who he truly was. They feared the day he finally decided to come after them like he had their comrade, for they knew Pryor was only the first. For everything they had drawn him and his partners into, for all of their interference in his life, in _Their_ lives, they knew that he would destroy them as well.

They couldn't stop him; all they could do was watch so they would know when he made the decision to move against them.

So, they watched…and they waited.

 _No one was safe not the Believers not their commanders not even those who had been His allies or those who he once would have died rather than allow to be hurt. He was above them all now, and it would only be a matter of circumstance preventing him from adding them to the pile of bodies at his feet._

 _Their worst nightmare come to life_


	24. Epilogue

Epilogue

It was meant to be the middle of summer, but the symptoms of winter were stronger than ever. The temperature was at an all-time low and there was sleet covering the patio of the expensive Italian restaurant where I was currently. I'd specially requested a table near the center of the place and was making a show of perusing the dessert menu.

The restaurant was in Joliet, Illinois in the upscale part of town. It wasn't my usual kind of spot, but I wasn't here for the food or atmosphere; I was here for something else entirely.

 _I watch the flames consume the crumpled papers and photographs and reflect on the symbolism of their destruction._

 ** _The fire the devouring has begun_**

 _These are my old case files, the files on the deaths of my father and the murder of my wife and child. These are remnants of my old life, the man I used to be. And now they are being decimated, turned to ash by the black fires from my fingertips-just like my old self._

I wasn't reading the list of dishes-I'd already ordered. My eyes were focused on the table two behind me and one to the left; it was empty at the moment, but I knew it wouldn't remain so. I knew someone had reserved it for half an hour from now, and that someone was the reason I, _we,_ were here.

This was my new mission. Not saving the innocent, or finding justice for them, but hunting down those who have crossed me and my partners. I was finally free of the specters of my dead wife and child that used to follow me everywhere I went and free of the curse that forced me to hear every lost child and have them beg me to save them from the abyss. I had no obligations to anyone but myself-what I was now-anymore.

 _I am no longer a detective, searching for the truth in mysteries left unsolved. Nor am I a father or husband, searching revenge for those who have gone or taking care of those who here now. Susan and Jennifer are gone, and so are Rachel and Sam. I am not their protector anymore. I am nothing that I used to be._

The closer it got to 8pm, the colder it got. A sheet of frost blanketed the glass table in front of me as well as the burgundy wood beneath my feet, and a slight smile quirked my lips as my eyes darted briefly to the men at the table next to the one I'd been watching.

Though I was alone at the table, I wasn't alone at the restaurant. We were making a show of acting like we weren't together, but we were still in communication. We were one entity, after all, split into three vessels; but we were connected in ways that defied mundane explanation. That was why they knew my plan without me having to tell them.

 _There is no real definition for what I am now, what I have become-except that I am not human. If the stories I have heard are true-and they are-I never was. I am something else, something more twisted and complicated than I could ever have imagined_.

I sipped my champagne, keeping the double-sided sheet of laminate held up in front of my face as I counted down the minutes.

At precisely 8, a woman was led to the table I'd had my eye on. She was flanked by two bodyguards, who sat down on either side of her while she lowered herself into the chair facing me; she was tall, broad-shouldered and clad in a Dior smock and blazer and a pressed knee-length skirt. Her manicured fingers were curled around a sleek silver iphone and tapping at the screen, so she paid little attention to the server when he came up to her, asking what she wanted to drink.

I gave a small shake of my head. She couldn't really be that rudely oblivious; she had to know what was coming and was just acting like it didn't matter.

That was fine. I could work with that.

 _The flames roil inside the small granite hearth, jet-coloured sparks spitting into the frigid air. There is no wood in the fireplace, but the flames continue to burn, unnaturally bright and dark at the same time_.

My food was brought at that point; as soon as the waiters left my table and hers, I tilted my chin in her direction.

It started as a tremor, barely noticeable amidst the glacial wind. The furniture on the patio remained immobile, but the patrons sitting at that table were affected; the woman looked up from her phone, a crease appearing on her perfect forehead as she tried to detect its source.

Her gaze widened in alarm as her bodyguards suddenly jerked their arms towards the candles in the center of the table and black flames appeared on their sleeves. They tried to tamp them out, but they only grew larger, spreading up over their shoulders, their necks-their faces.

Their screams rent the night, and their boss recoiled as they threw themselves to the floor, their flesh burning away until there was nothing left.

And the fire didn't stop there.

 _I started this fire myself; it came from my hands like some sort of fabled magician. I created these flames for the single purpose of getting rid of these files and pictures. I no longer want to see them; I no longer need the reminders of who I was and what I've lost. They are no longer a part of me and they are no longer necessary._

It caught on the legs of her chair, causing her to leap up in an effort to avoid it; but to no avail. The hem of her skirt turned the colour of charcoal and the fire claimed her pricey clothes and her gleaming legs.

"No, please!" I heard her sob-the entire restaurant heard her-and I felt her eyes on me, pleading desperately. But I merely took another bite of my food, my gaze remaining trained straight ahead as the scent of burning flesh grew even stronger.

Her body cracked the patio floor even more as it collapsed beside her bodyguards, and there were more tremors as she writhed on it, the fire taking longer to consume her than it had them _more time for the agony she deserved_

But eventually, it stole all the oxygen from her lungs and the skin from her bones was as black as the flames had been and her screams petered out.

The same time they did, I lifted my glass of champagne again and tilted it in a silent toast. Another name gone; a reason to celebrate.

 _I toss the last of the papers into the grate and wait until they are cinders before I recall the flames._

 _It is finished. There are no traces left of my old identity, except those who once thought they knew who I was. But I will take care of them._

 _They all had names, my grandfather had once said about them. They all had names-and now we were crossing them off, one by one._


End file.
